


Homecoming

by beederiffic



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Established Relationship, Family, Frustration, M/M, Memory Loss, Mpreg, POV First Person, Telepathic Bond, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beederiffic/pseuds/beederiffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wakes after an attack to find everything changed</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awarrington](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awarrington/gifts).



> Warning: This story contains dark, nightmarish imagery involving non-sexy tentacles and progressive amnesia

_Water. It's slightly cold, muddied and grey. I can't see through it properly and my eyes sting as I see my hand wave in front of me, everything else disappearing into the murk. Something hurts, I don't know what. I try to open my mouth to shout but no sound comes out, just a stream of air bubbles, and I try to kick my way to the surface but the pain increases and I figure out it's coming from my legs and back, and that it's moving._

_My lungs begin to scream for air and the pressure around my hips and back moves further up, as something, a thousand small somethings dig into my torso like claws. I look up to see my hands reaching out, trying to swim as I can't feel my legs enough to try to kick any longer, but the surface is slipping away as I sink into darker water that is thicker, colder. The pain's around my shoulders now, wrapping itself around my arms, my neck and something squeezes there, forcing the last of my air out of my throat. I watch the bubbles rise as something muscular and covered in pain wraps itself around my chin, pushing its way in between my lips and into my mouth. A distant splash that I can barely hear, something wetter than the water covering my eyes, my skull ready to shatter with pressure and I'm trying to shout No, no, this can't be it, this isn't right and the water fills my lungs and it feels like I'm floating away in a sea of pain_

 

Sickbay. I've got to be in sickbay as it's the only place I know where there's such a complete lack of any discernible scent. At least, there is until I grab the edge of the bed, lean over and vomit up a gutfull of bile. A nightmare. Fuck, it was a nightmare, that was – that is . . . already slipping away from me. Horrible, my skin still aching like it's cold from the deeper water, head still singing with the pressure as that thing squeezed at me and didn't stop. I've had some creepy nightmares in my time but that was different. Visceral. So real, but it's fading, so fast now that all I'm left with is a weirdly foggy feeling in my head, a hint of lingering fear and a bad taste in my mouth. I start to push myself up on the biobed but I'm weak and shaking and have to flop back down. I guess I must be sick and it was just a fever dream, maybe I'm delirious. 

“Jim? You're awake.”  

“Bones.” My voice is all cracked like I've haven't spoken in awhile. Guess I've been really sick. “Step careful, I messed up your floor. Sorry about that.”

  “Hush, save your energy.” The low whirr of a handheld scanner, Bones' voice softer than usual, not much more than a whisper and I can't see his face, the light too low in here. “I'm going to sedate you, I want you to get some more rest.”

  “No, Bones, wait. No more sleep, I had this bad dream and my head's all . . . I don't want to -”  

The faint press and sudden sting of a hypospray on my buttcheek and I'm already falling back into sleep when I hear Bones mutter 'Sorry, kid'. 

 

_Hands touching my face, brushing my hair back from my forehead. It feels good, it feels like a caress. It feels like love, fingers gliding across my skin. The fingers turn to water. I'm floating now and I'm not sure why, I wasn't floating or in water a moment ago. My head hurts, a deep throb at the base of my neck. The water closes over my face and I'm too dazed to do anything but watch it happen, the ripples on the surface, small circles expanding across it like there's a little rain above. I don't know why everything's so peaceful and all I want to do is close my eyes and float. But then something big, and deep, and very strong touches my ankle, and something impossibly muscular wraps itself around my whole foot, a snake maybe, now another around my knee. They begin to squeeze, and it begins to hurt, and I don't want to float anymore._

 

I wake struggling, trying to kick the sheet off my leg, a shout dying in my throat. The sheet must've got wrapped around me while I slept. I'm not in sickbay anymore. I don't know where I am, the lights are too low for me to really see more than a few blocks of furniture scattered around the place, a pale green light on a far wall indicating the door, another in orange across the way that must be the bathroom. I open my mouth to try to increase the lights to ten percent but my mouth's so dry that all I can do is croak. I try to sit up so I can go get some water but, again, I'm so weak, my head ringing and fogged in a weird way that I can't describe. Then the door opens and lets in a flood of light from a corridor beyond, and I hold up a hand to shield my eyes as it's too bright and hurts. The silhouette of a man is approaching and then I recognize the permanent set of tension about the shoulders and figure out it's Bones, who must be monitoring me if I'm still sick.

“Take it easy, hotshot. Lie your butt back down.”  

“Water. Please.” 

“Here. Sip it, don't gulp.”

Nothing in the history of history has ever tasted so good as this water. I do as I'm told, start out sipping but it's so delicious that I start chugging it and Bones grabs it back. “Cut that out or you'll puke it back up.”

“What happened to me? Feel like I was hit by a shuttle.”

He's scanning me slowly, his hand lit up by the scanner unit, his face in darkness although I can make out his outline now my eyes have gotten used to the dark again. “You don't remember anything?”  

“Nothing about being sick.” 

 “You're not sick, not exactly.” The scan stops, and Bones orders lights up to twenty percent, and I pretty much jump out of the bed with shock and into a heap on the floor when my legs give out from under me.   

“Beard!”

He frowns in concern over the top of his medical tricorder. “That's one heck of an odd thing to shout at me. Here, hold onto my arm, let's get you up.”

“Is it real? How the hell long was I sick, anyway?”

“Is what real? Do I need to drug you again?”   

I can't stop looking at it. It's huge. “I know we're a little lax on regs but, fuck, Bones, Fleet's not going to approve of a CMO with a beard the size of Alaska.”

“Okay, I think it's getting clear we need to do some more tests. I'm taking you back to sickbay.” 

I shuffle my ass back onto the bed with his assistance, noticing I'm in a medical gown that rides up as I do. Bones uses the comm control by the bed to ask for assistance in Admiral Kirk's quarters, which is when my stomach cramps and I puke up a bunch of water all down the front of my gown.

~*~

“Seventeen years? Seventeen? How is that even possible?”

“Give or take. It's tough to say, they've not found it yet and, until we get a good look at it, we can't be sure of the mechanism involved. All we know is that it grabbed you and apparently sucked a bunch of memories right out of your head.”

“Holy shit, I'm old.” My face looks so different in the mirror, broader, kind of beat up with fading, bruised oval-shaped welts all over my skin. My skin's tan and wrinkled, my hair's darker and it's . . . “Wait a sec, did I have – I've had hair enhancement? I was going bald? Jesus, I'm fat.”

“Forty three isn't old and you're always telling me that you're beefy, not fat. You even banned me from using the F word.” 

“I'm old, fat and bald, and you've turned into some freaky old man of the woods. This shit ain't right, Bones, nothing about this is right. And my head,” I rub at my forehead, “I swear there's something up with my head.”

Bones reaches behind him to pick up his tricorder. “You can check it out yourself: You're missing a huge chunk of memory engrams but everything else reads perfectly normally. You know, for you.” He pats my forearm awkwardly. “It's gotta be tough, Jim. Losing half your life like this, it's going to be weird. We need to discuss how you can begin to deal with the changes, and any lingering trauma, and what sort of support we can give you until we get your memory back.”

“If we get it back.” I sit down, my legs giving out in distress this time rather than weakness. Half my life, gone. Even if I get my memory back, it's still gone, stolen from me. I'm so angry all of a sudden that I want to grab those fuckers that did this to me and show them how it feels. It's probably just as well we're over a week away from the planet now because this hot, building rage in me wants to go planet-side and start phasing anything that moves. The vaguely fuzzy feeling in my forehead increases and I rub the ball of my palm over it. Seventeen years. Last thing I remember with any surety was getting drunk with Scotty and Bones on my six-month Captainversary. We even made up a song, 'Jimmy Tee, he's so captain-y' that I vaguely remember singing to Spock at my doorway before falling inside to pass out. Then, so far as it seems to me, I wake up, puke down my shirt and I'm an ancient admiral with cloned hair and a gut. I'm aware of how whiny and pathetic this is sounds, but my mind keeps repeating it over and over: it's not fair. I want it all back. The time, not the memories.

“Jim, there's something else I need to talk to you about. What's waiting back home.”

“God, I don't know, Bones. I barely know what it means to be a captain, I can't go back as Ops Chief. I'm not even a hundred percent sure what the Ops Chief does. Fleet's going to have to, what, reassign me or something, till I get it all back. If I get it all back.”

 He sighs, then reaches down to dig in his desk in a gesture that I remember no matter how many gigantic psi-squids try to suck my brain out. The flask is placed on the table top, two glasses following and Bones pours two shots. Big ones, which indicates that, whatever it is, it's difficult to swallow and therefore needs washing down with an inch of bourbon. “No, Jim. What's waiting back home, is your husband.”

I blink. “My what now?”

Bones sighs. “Dammit, I was hoping you might have some residual . . . You honestly don't remember a thing, do you?”

  “I'm married? Me? No. No way. For how long?”

  “Fifteen years.”

 “Bullshit.” I grab my bourbon and slam it back, thrusting out my glass for another. “I'd remember that. You're fucking with me.”

There's something about the way he's looking at me. A weird kind of sympathy, something I'm not used to feeling from Bones. He pulls a PADD off a shelf behind his head, beginning to look through files. “I'm not fucking with you. You've a family, Jim. You've got kids.”

It can't be right. I've always known, my entire life, that I wasn't going to settle down. Ever, it was the one thing I was always sure of, right since I was a kid. Even before I signed up I knew I'd be doing something that didn't sit with being a family man. I mean, what do I know about families? Only that I haven't got a damn clue, that it's the one thing I've never wanted, and that only some kind of monster could forget he's got kids. I grab the glass so tight that my fingers squeak on the glass and I have to force myself to reach out to take the PADD when Bones hands it to me. It feels like I can't breathe. This can't be right. I've fallen through a wormhole or something, because this can't be my life. 

It's a holofile, dated a year back. A girl, a teenager, who looks kind of purple is standing by my elbow, looking off to the right. A blond baby is tucked into the crook of my arm, waving a chubby hand at the man standing beside me, who I'm looking at with a soft smile. He's reaching toward the baby with a finger. I drop the PADD in horror, watching as it knocks into my glass, the bourbon spilling over the PADD's surface, blurring Spock's face as he gazes down at the child in my arms. 

“Jim -”  

“No.”  

“I'm telling you the -”  

“No. What the – No. No! This is all wrong.” Panic is bouncing around my chest and I feel it again, the squeezing, the breath being forced out of my body like the monstrous thing from my nightmares has got a grip on me again. This can't be right. The foggy feeling in my brain starts up, and I make a visual check to see Bones hasn't come at me with a hypospray because it's almost drugging, a warm wave flooding my head. I screw my eyes shut, trying to focus. 

“Jim, sit back down. I can't begin to imagine how disorienting this must be, but your body's been through a hell of a shock recently and I need you to calm down before I have to sedate you again.”

“Spock? Spock thinks I'm an asshole!”

Bones shrugs. “I guess he got over it. Come on, sit your ass down. Have another drink.” 

“I can't be married to Spock! I had kids with Spock? Oh God, tell me I didn't – is that why I'm so fat?” I'm not too proud to say that I am freaking the fuck out.

“You're fat because you never met a foodstuff that you didn't prefer in triplicate. Lejiba, your daughter, is adopted. Spock had Gray, your adorable little mid-life crisis there, because neither of us trusted you an inch not to get knocked up and then, I don't know, get yourself attacked by a giant squid monster or something. Sit down.”

“I can't be married to Spock.” I slump down in the chair, grabbing the drink that Bones has righted and refreshed for me. “I guess I realized he doesn't think I'm an asshole anymore. He doesn't think anything about me. He's think I'm trivial and pointless.”

  Bones leans forward across the desk, placing his glass down. “Jim, with all due respect, I had to see you through your adolescent pinings for Spock seventeen years ago. I'm not planning to do it again.”

I squint at him, heart in my throat, mind racing. “Spock?”

He nods. “Spock.”  

“And kids? I have kids. With Spock. Me.”

“You do. Turns out, you're a better father than you ever were a captain. And you were a tolerable captain, all things considered.” He clinks his glass against mine. “Mazel tov.”

~*~

Turns out admiralcy must have its perks: Home is this huge place overlooking the bay close to Fleet HQ, most of it smart glass and rough-hewn rock. I step out of the aircab, scraping my jaw off the floor as I do. Looks like Little Jimmy Kirk did good and I feel like immediately sending a holovid of the place to every single person in Riverside. Bones gets out to stand beside me, hand coming to rest on my shoulder.  “Doing okay?”

“No.”

“It's just Spock to deal with, the kids are out till later.”

“'Just Spock'? Fat lot of help you are.” I know he spoke with Spock earlier, before we docked. That he's been updating Spock this whole time. It feels indescribably weird. 

A pat on my shoulder and he turns, making his way back into the cab and a bite of panic tightens my chest again. “Bones? Bones! Get back here.”  

“Come on, Jim. You've dealt with scarier than Spock in your time, you'll do fine.”

  “Nothing is scarier than this, not even giant squid attack. Trust me.” I grab his arms, making him look at me. “Please, Bones, don't leave me alone with him. Not yet.”

“Jim . . .” He eyebrows at me. “For whatever reason and, trust me, I don't dig too deep, you and Spock work. He loves you. You loved him. Go talk to your husband, Jim, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Traitor. Deserter. Bones, come on.”

“For that, I hereby give you medical clearance to resume marital relations.” A mocking two-fingered salute. “Have a nice day, Admiral.”

I pick up my bag as the cab door hisses shut, and I turn back to the house, a lurch of surprise when I see him there. Standing at the door dressed in some kind of robe, arms tucked into his back in his own serene bubble of calm while my heart tries to beat its way out through my sternum. He barely looks older, almost exactly how I remember him what seems like two weeks ago, to my mind. A little more rugged-looking, I guess. I wanted him back then, I wanted him the second I saw him. It never stopped. It's still impossible to believe that he ever wanted me in return. “Spock.”

“Jim.” His face is impassive as ever, but it's all in the eyes with Spock, something I figured out after I'd known him a couple of weeks. And his eyes are warm, relieved, adoring. His eyes are devoted. Something deep inside my chest cramps, my head fogging up once more. He steps back like I'm supposed to go into the house in front of him and I linger for a moment longer before taking the hint and scooting past him like he's on fire. 

“Wow. Nice place, I have good taste.” Which sounds like a tacky come-on line the second I say it while looking at him, and my mouth gapes a little in horror with myself. Spock merely holds out a hand to me, making me look at it dumbly.   

“Please allow me to take your bag. Perhaps you would care to sit in the living area while I prepare us some tea.”

“Tea? I don't drink coffee any more?”

“Not habitually, no. Although I believe we may have some coffee, if you would prefer.” 

“No, tea's fine. I guess I might as well start to get used to, y'know. Everything.”

“The living area is -”  

“No, I'll have a look around and find it myself.”  

“If you wish.” He looks at me. Simply stands there and looks at me with those fathomless eyes as the seconds tick by. Then, when I'm starting to mentally squirm he bends a fraction, picking up my bag from the floor and nodding at me before wordlessly moving away across a wide, light-filled lobby. I watch him go then take a breath that feels like my first one in five minutes.

It's a great house so far, it's like someone looked into my head and designed it from there. God, maybe they did. It's going to take me awhile to get my mind around the whole telepathy thing. Literally. I find a den that's got my name scrawled all over it, walls lined with actual books, a wide, ring-marked desk piled high with stacks of PADDs and unfiled data chips, and a leather chair that looks well used and like it'll accommodate my fat ass in comfort. A dining room, one that actually looks like it gets used, a baby's high chair at one end of the table. I guess we must have family dinners. The idea of me and Spock yakking cozily around the dinner table with our kids makes my brain spasm and I frown, close the door like the concept will escape and come after me otherwise. One more room, lined in red drapes and smelling of over-spiced incense, one that I label 'Here be Vulcans' on the mental map I'm making of the place. It feels like a private space, like I'm intruding by even sticking my head around the door. I close the door softly like it makes a difference to the room how I exit it.

I'm at the back of the house now, passing under a big staircase that winds upwards, and through an open archway into a room that makes me grin instantly. I live here? I live here, this is my house. Man, I'm still awesome. The room stretches what I guess must be the length of the house, one big seamless floor to ceiling window taking in the view across the bay. The floor dips into a big seating area that looks like something you'd sink into, which must be pure nirvana after too long on those Starfleet issue couchettes that are like trying to get comfy on a mortuary slab. A woodburning stove with a big pile of logs next to it, which I'm guessing comes from the woods beyond the big window. I always did enjoy chopping wood, it was one of very few chores I didn't bitch Mom out over. A cloud drifts away and the late Fall sun breaks out across the bay, the water glimmering a clear blue from this distance, the bridge stretching away in a slight curve. I can hardly tear my sight away from the view but the rest of the room calls, Spock's harp case propped in a corner next to an ornate stool and a baby grand piano, which I'm guessing has nothing to do with me because I'm about as musical as a houseplant. There are framed holos everywhere, the kids, Spock, me, Bones, some people I recognize, others that I don't. One of Mom with Sam on a shelf by the door and I reach out to pick it up, still unable to believe they're both gone. I've got so many questions about everything that I don't know where to begin. 

I'm wound so tight that I almost drop the photo when Spock walks in carrying a tray. It feels like I'm trespassing in someone else's home, like I shouldn't be here, an intruder caught in the act. He takes the few steps down into the seating area, placing the tray on a low coffee table there and sitting elegantly upright on one of the couches, looking up at me expectantly so I put the photo back down, move to join him. But once I'm down there, looking between a space next to him on the long sofa where I guess I should sit and the one across the table from him where I'd feel much more comfortable, it's tough to make myself take the next-to-Spock option. It feels weird to sit here next to him, and how ridiculous is that? I've sat huddled up next to him a hundred times that I remember, in my quarters, in meetings, in stupid little chairs on planets that have never heard of ergonomics. But the context is all different now. So I sit next to Spock because I don't want to seem like I can't stand to be near him, and it feels intimate to a degree that has me ready to jump up every time he moves. He reaches out to pour the tea, handing me a cup wordlessly before pouring his own. I sit back, cross my legs away from him, taking a sip of hot tea that tastes like compost and just about managing to disguise my grimace. I feel as if my skin's humming with his nearness, so aware of him in a way I've never been before, that I remember. 

"So. Spock."

"Yes, Jim?"

So strange, how easily my name falls from his mouth. He was always so awkward with it before. Not strange at all, I guess, when you think about it, he's has a long time to practice saying it. "Bones explained everything. Right? About how I can't . . . how I don't know . . ." 

What am I supposed to say? 'How I can't remember a damn thing about our marriage? About how I'm supposed to be in love with you? Any of it, our kids, the life we built together. Sorry, it's all gone.' 

He inclines his head, brow slightly furrowed as he tastes his tea and places the cup down on the table. "I have been fully briefed as to the particulars of the incident itself, and as to your current condition. I believe that Starfleet Medical intends to run more in-depth testing on your condition than Doctor McCoy was able to perform within the Endeavor's facilities, when you feel that you are sufficiently resettled. Captain Giotto reports little progress in the search for the creature that attacked you, due to the size and unusual depth of Ibahn's oceans, and Starfleet is updating me with the status of the search in two-hourly intervals. The Jules Verne's scans have been regularly identifying large marine lifeforms that are consistent with the reports -"

"Spock, wait, thanks but I'm attending a debriefing session in the morning, I don't need you to cover everything. Besides, Ibahn's not a Federation planet, progress is going to be slow, I get that. They gave Cupcake his own ship? Wait, that's Operations - did I give Cupcake a ship?"

"You did." 

"Huh. A nice one?" 

"The Jules Verne is a serviceable vessel. Jim - I do not wish to discuss Captain Giotto's command." A pause, those dark eyes dropping to stare at my mouth for a second before looking directly into my own once more. "I wish to express to you that I regret that you have been through a highly traumatic experience, in addition to the physical harm you have suffered. I am sorry for your pain, and for that which you have lost. I hope that you will be able to seek support in me where you believe it to be warranted and appropriate, and I wish to assure you that I am available to you in whatever manner best serves your needs."

He has that quiet intensity I recall so vividly, that depth of seriousness to him. He's so very sincere and I'm touched by his honesty, at a loss how to respond. He looks at me as if he's waiting for me to say something so I open my mouth and let whatever's there come out. "Uh, thanks?" 

Insensitive jackass. His eyes move away from mine, focusing out the window somewhere over my shoulder, a slight frown once more as he looks back at me again, his face close enough for me to reach out to touch, if I wanted to, his elbow two inches from my own. "I also wish to convey to you that I have no expectation so far as the practicalities involved in our resuming any form of intimacy. Considering the number of missing memory engrams, I understand that you have no recollection of our personal relationship, and I hope to reassure you that I understand I am not, to your mind and to any meaningful measure on your part, your husband."

My throat's so tight with discomfort that I have to take another sip of compost tea. "Oh. That." 

"Am I in error?"

"No, Spock, you're correct." I sit back with a sigh, feeling helpless and mean. "I'm sorry, but it's not there. It's all gone."

"I understood as much from Doctor McCoy."

"I know. It's got to be different, though, coming directly from me."

A flicker deep in his eyes, something I can't read. "It is. But not entirely unexpected."

"I am sorry. Honestly."

"Please do not be concerned on my behalf. The situation is less than ideal but your recovery is my primary concern - beyond the issue of your relationship with the children."

Hah, I recognize that voice. A stern hint, almost disapproval, like he's about to tell me off. It's so completely familiar that I start to relax for the first time since I got back to Earth. I fight a yawn, take a deep breath instead. "What's on your mind?"

He places his tea down once more, turning slightly towards me and I scoot back unconsciously. "The children do not have the same capacity for emotional resiliency as you and I. I do not expect you to lie to them, or to pretend that you feel anything for them that you do not. However, children are perceptive beings, and I am concerned that the impact your memory loss may have on them will be detrimental to their well-being. I know you to be an emotionally-sensitive man with great depths of empathy and compassion, and trust that you will use those sensibilities in your dealings with the children. It is of utmost importance that you consider them first, in everything. I cannot accept less."

I'm unexpectedly touched over Spock getting all Papa Bear. I can hear it in his tone, the underlying message of 'hurt the kids and I'll kick your ass, husband or not'. I didn't know he had it in him, and I'm oddly proud of him, glad he's a good dad. Especially since he's practically the only one they've got now. "I'll do my best, and respect that it needed to be said. I can't promise that I'm not going to screw up but you'll be there to set me straight. Right?"

"I shall."

My head's beginning to throb, my body exhausted so soon after I've done so little. It's like that fucking thing sapped my ability to maintain any kind of energy level and I've been napping more than a puppy all the way home. I don't want to flake out on Spock yet but the urge to lay flat and close my eyes is becoming more difficult to suppress. I close my eyes, wanting to rest them briefly but the idea of opening them again is one that I'm not sure I'm able to entertain right now. I sense Spock moving beside me and I'm about to apologize but my feet are lifted in strong hands that help guide me into a reclining position on the comfiest damn couch I think I've ever experienced and it's nice, having someone to do something so simple as put my feet up when I'm tired. Something new and, well, it's nice, simple as that. I have to fight drowsiness in order to crack open my eyes to see Spock standing beside me, looking down at me with perfect composure, such total impassivity.

"Doctor McCoy has asked me to ensure you have adequate opportunity for rest. The children are due to return home in approximately one hundred and fifty minutes so you might sleep now if you are able to. I will wake you prior to their arrival, if you wish."

"I do. I'm anxious to meet them." In more ways than one. His footsteps are almost silent in that way he has, padding off up the little steps. "Hey, Spock?"

"Yes, Jim?"

I crank open one eye this time, too tired to manage both. "Thanks. For being so understanding about all this." 

I swear it's a smile. A hint of one, in the way his expression warms by the slightest amount. It's familiar, something I'd begun to notice the longer I'd known him, but I'd never been sure. "If our situations were reversed, I am entirely certain that you would do everything in your power to ensure my comfort." He touches a control by the door, the smart glass instantly turning grey, the room falling into semi-darkness. "Please rest. I will return shortly."


	2. Chapter 2

I wake to the sound of footsteps running up stairs and a door slamming, the room dark and unfamiliar, panic rising in my chest, feeling like I'm paralyzed with what turned out to be the squid's venomous neurotoxin until I stretch out my arms and legs to reassure myself I can still move. I'm almost waiting for it now, the strange warmth flooding into my mind after a nightmare, a light fog in the center of my forehead that gently suggests that my muscles relax, my heartbeat calming. A thread of something else that I don't understand. Whatever the psi-squid did to me, it's not over yet and it doesn't quite feel like my mind's my own. I rub at my forehead, waiting for the sensation to dissipate.

Another door opens and closes somewhere, a woman's voice saying something but it's too muffled to make out. It sounds like a question, retreating into what I think must be the kitchen at the other end of the house. My house, I remember it now, trying out a verbal order to see if the smart glass can be voice-activated. It can, a tonal burble as my command is accepted and the glass clears, the room lightening to reveal a clear afternoon across the bay. I'm rubbing fingers into my eyes, sitting up with my elbows on my knees when I hear Spock's voice behind me, rich and deep. 

"I am glad that you are awake, Jim, as I have someone here that I wish you to meet." The kids. I'm meeting my kids today. There's not a single thing I can do to prepare myself for this moment so I take a deep breath that doesn't help in the slightest and turn to look at Spock as a loud squeal and an excitable "Dadadada!" erupts from his direction. He's holding this chunky, squirming bundle of spiky blond hair and furiously windmilling arms, and Spock allows this fat little thing to wriggle out of his grasp to promptly tumble down the shallow steps with a squawk that turns into a fit of giggles. It's a baby. Potentially the biggest damn baby I've ever seen. He sticks his ass into the air as he pushes himself up onto these chubby feet and then toddles over to me, grinning and drooling over his chin in excitement, hands held out towards me and I reach out automatically, smiling in surprised pleasure as he grabs onto my fingers and holds on tight. Grayson Kirk, my son, fourteen months old, looking at me through enormous brown eyes beneath eyebrows that slant up towards his tufty hair. Everything else is all me, right down to his curved pink ears. 

"PUPUPUP." He makes a grabbing motion with his hands, an approving gurgle as I heft him up into my lap, and he presses his open mouth against my cheek leaving a smear of drool behind. I think I just got a welcome home kiss. I'd like to say that I look at him and fall in love, but I don't. I think I'm supposed to. I like kids, although I've never had the slightest desire to have them myself and he's a cute kid even if I do have some sort of natural bias, unable to look into his face without seeing myself there, me with a touch of Spock which is possibly the most entirely bizarre thing I've ever experienced, psi-squid included. But I look at him and wait for this big rush of paternal love to overwhelm me, and it doesn't happen. 

So I smile, laugh when he grabs at my nose, because he's totally adorable and seems like a cool kid and because I don't want to fail as a parent in five seconds flat. "Hi there, Grayson. I'm pleased to make your reacquaintance." I get a babble in reply and catch Spock looking at me expectantly. "What? What did I miss?"

"Babadoo is Grayson's approximation of Bouncy Do. He is requesting that you play with him."

"No shi- no way. I play Bouncy Do with him? How did I even remember that? Man, Bouncy Do. I'd clean forgotten all about Bouncy Do."

"BABABADOODOO." 

"You want to play Bouncy Do? Okay, but you might need to help me out, I don't know if I can remember it all." I settle his legs across mine like he's riding a horse, holding onto his hands and start to bounce him up and down, jiggling him from one side to the other, Mom's old words coming back to me from I don't know where or when. Bouncy Do, Bouncy Do, Bounce for me then I'll bounce you. Bounce over here and this way too, up and down then we go . . . Boo! I drop him through my knees with the last word, his legs hooked around my thighs, his hands in mine as he throws his head back towards the floor and screams with laughter. I did a real dad thing, a parent thing, and I feel like even more of a fraud than I did sitting in the Captain's chair for the first time after provoking Spock into beating the crap out of me. I run through Bouncy Do with Grayson three more times, figuring out that he gurgles with approval the rougher I am, all the time wondering how long I have to do this and what I'll do if I say No to more and he screams. So I settle on jiggling him on my knees as I look back at Spock. 

"Where's Lejiba? I thought she was due back same time as this guy." 

"You said you were roused by a slamming door?' I nod. "In time, you will grow accustomed to what has become the habitual sign of Lejiba's return home."

"She didn't want to come say hi?"

"She did not." Spock finally comes down into the seating area towards me and Grayson, taking him firmly around the waist and swinging him up off my knee to tuck him under an arm as if he's a duffle bag, something Grayson seems to enjoy if the goofy chuckle emanating from Spock's armpit is anything to judge by. Spock simply acts like he doesn't have a diapered butt and two dimpled legs sticking out of the side of his body. "I believe that Lejiba is waiting in her room for you to attend to her."

"So I should go up there?"

"She has not seen you in twenty three days and is aware that you were recently involved in a near-fatal incident so, yes, I suggest that you should." Spock pats Grayson's bottom in an entirely expressionless manner then moves him easily up to a shoulder, Grayson grabbing at Spock's nose with one hand and sucking noisily on the other. Again, Spock doesn't acknowledge that his nose is being comprehensively squeezed or that another, spit-wet hand is now slapping at his cheek delightedly. "You will undoubtedly be told to 'Get lost'. I recommend that you fail to comply."

"A teenage daughter. Worse than the Romulans?"

Spock turns his head towards his son, face solemn as Grayson drools happily down Spock's cheek, and Spock delicately disengages one chubby hand from the pointed tip of his ear. "You have always maintained a certain level of pride in your tactical skills, Jim. Prepare to have them tested as never before."

I exit the couch, stretching kinks out of my back that wouldn't have been there twenty years ago, and leave the room with a brief and, I'm hoping, warm smile at Spock and Grayson, who is busy chewing on Spock's nose while Spock looks at him with a smile in his eyes. I cross the lobby and a woman comes out of what I'm guessing again is the kitchen, a stack of cloths in her hands that she's folding as she goes. Her face lights up when she looks up to see me, a look of genuine excitement, which is nice but I haven't got the slightest clue of who she is.

"Admiral! Oh, God, Jim." She tosses the cloths down on a side table and proceeds to hug the crap out of me, the top of her head coming up to the center of my chest. "We've been so worried. How's the memory, did you get anything back yet?"

"No, not yet. I'm sorry, I know this sounds rude but I don't recognize you."

"Don't sweat it." She stands back, waving my concerns away with one hand. "I'm Pui-Shan Lee, Parenting Support, although you usually say I'm part of the family if I introduce myself to visitors that way. It's very sweet, and more than a little disrespectful of my professional boundaries."

"I'll remember that. I think. You help out with the kids?" 

"I have doctorates in Child Psychology and Development, wrote my most recent thesis on The Gifted Child: Family Dynamic and the Role of Support Professionals in Preventing Gotz-Chrobid Syndrome, and have tailored a classic six-point organizational scheme to this family in order to ensure Lejiba and Gray realize their unusual level of potential within a cohesive family unit. So, yeah, I guess you could put it like that, if you wanted to be super patronizing."

The wide grin tells me she's kidding and the way she keeps clinging to my arm like she's really happy to see me takes any sting out of her words. I nod in approval, agree with her that I'll make time this week to go over the plan, then ask if she can direct me to Lejiba's room as I haven't made it upstairs yet. She hikes a thumb towards the back of the house. "Upstairs, go left. Trust me, you won't miss it. We're big on encouraging the kids to express themselves, and Lejiba's very, uh, creative."

She's right: In a sun-filled house full of muted, earthy tones that continue upstairs, calming and restful, we thought it was a good idea to allow Lejiba to paint her door black with drizzles of pale purple running down from the top like a lavender blood stain. I think about the girl in the photos as I walk up to her door, think about her pale mauve skin, wondering if maybe her blood's actually this color and, if so, what the hell sort of statement are we encouraging her to make. I take a deep breath before knocking on her door, nervous beyond reason. I'm Jim Kirk, youngest Starship Captain in Fleet history, youngest officer decorated with the Starfleet Medal of Honor, defeater of Nero. Lejiba is a fifteen year old girl. I key her door chime.

"Oh my God, what now?"

"Lejiba? It's me. It's -" Dad? Daddy? I imagine Spock's probably 'Father', I can't imagine anyone calling Spock 'Daddy'. My brain takes itself on a swift inappropriate detour before I wrench back my concentration. "It's time we caught up."

There's a pause. "I'm busy. Come back later."

"I want to see if you're as pretty in person as in your holofiles."

"I said, I'm busy."

"I'm coming in." I step up to the door, sort of expecting it to stay in place, unsure if we'd allow her a private lock code. Doesn't seem like it as it opens for me easily and I look down into a pair of furious eyes the color of emeralds, half-covered in a long sweep of hair that's such a dark blue it's almost as black as Spock's. "Da-ad! You promised you wouldn't just walk in anymore."

"I didn't walk in, I chimed and asked."

"And I said no." 

"Spock recommended that I take an assertive approach."

"Don't blame him. You're the one in my room uninvited. Again." 

She's tiny, barely up to my chest, Ooniuum by birth and unlikely to ever grow much bigger. I think over the small amount of information that was available on her file, and over the rather larger amount available on my personnel file as her adoption was the first of many times I've decided to ignore Fleet directive and do whatever the hell I felt needed doing. Reading over my missions history on the way back to Earth from Ibahn I couldn't believe my eventual promotion didn't get blocked over pulling this kind of shit repeatedly throughout my captaincy. Lejiba, my work of art in that respect, a third daughter on a planet with a too-high female birth rate and a culture that forbids polygamous marriage. A almost three year old child who darts out of the crowd and boldy slips her hand into mine and asks me to rescue her. So I do, on finding out that unwanted female children not adopted by a childless couple are culled on their third birthday. 

Culled, the report even refers to it in that way. I carried her around with me that whole first day of membership negotiations, then insisted on adopting her, and caused a whole Prime Directive shit storm to come down on my and Spock's heads when the head of Ibahn government complained to Federation government. I wish I could remember it, it's kind of cool. It sounds like a me thing to do, storming in to rescue someone who's been abandoned, regardless to the consequences. Even if it meant becoming a parent overnight.

"You're beautiful." It's barely more than a murmur, muttered under my breath but her cheeks flush a darker purple, the color of the spray of freckles across her long nose. 

"You have to think that, you're my dad."

"Can I get a hug?" Do I want one? Weirdly, I do. There's something about her delicacy combined with the fierce expression on her face, along with the bittersweet nature of her being my daughter in the first place. The way she decided on her own to disregard the law of her world and to chose her own destiny, which, it seems, was me. Me and Spock. Two skinny arms wind around my waist and, although her face is still wearing a resolutely dismissive expression, she hugs me tight for a moment, then tighter still, squeezing her eyes shut as my arms go around her. I kiss the top of her head and pat her shoulder, feeling more like an uncle than anything else. A godparent, maybe. There's a definite affection there, whatever it is. She draws away and frowns up at me, folding her arms accusingly.

"You don't remember me at all, do you?"

I have to shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't. I want to."

"I can't believe you got attacked by a squid. I told you something like this would happen if you didn't let Pops come too. Something stupid always happens to you if he's not there." 

"I guess you were right. 'Pops', huh?" 

She rolls her eyes, sighs. "You love telling people that story. It was how I pronounced 'Spock' when I was three. You think it's the cutest thing ever." 

She's got me there. I follow her into her bedroom, taking an uneasy perch on the end of her unmade bed while she slumps back down into the huge memory bag she was sprawled in when I opened the door, already grabbing a pair of headphones like she's itching to put them back on to block me out. Her room looks like somebody turned it upside down and shook it around, and it still doesn't manage to come close to how messy my room was at her age. She plays with the headphones and stares at me through those bright green, unblinking eyes until I clear my throat, searching for something else to say. "So, how's life? How's, uh, school?"

Wrong thing to say. She frowns, her cheeks blushing dark lavender, eyes sparking angrily. "School? I'm barely scraping by. I guess I might as well remind you now, because you're going to find out anyway: I'm the dummy in the family. Gray's going to be the smart one, just like you and Pops."

"Oh. I got the impression from Pui-Shan a second ago that you and Gray are both, I don't know, above average. Did I get that wrong?"

A dismissive snort. "She's probably talking about the piano. I'm musically gifted, I'm starting at the Conservatory two years early next Spring semester. I suck at everything else."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Dad, you haven't got a clue about me. Trust me, compared with all you guys, I'm dumb as a rock. I guess it's genetic."

"You're right, I don't know any better. But you seem smart enough to me. Smart, beautiful, and talented, too. I bet I'm the proudest dad in the galaxy."

Another sudden blush and again I've said the wrong thing, her face closing down as she tugs the headphones over her ears. "You're proud of Gray. You love me and everything but I'm never going to, I don't know, save entire planets. Not like you and Pops did. Whatever, it's not important. I guess I'm glad you're home and all that, but I've got stuff to do."

"Lejiba . . ."

"Later. Okay, Dad? I'm transcribing."

The dismissal is total, a shut-out that I don't know how to properly counteract so I get to my feet, about to say something but she orders her music to resume, grabbing a PADD from the floor beside her and hunching her shoulders away from me.

~*~

“What is this?”  

“It is a data chip.”

“Spock, I can remember what a data chip looks like.” I turn it over in my fingers, like I'm in any way able to figure out why he's given it to me simply by looking at it. “What's on it?”  

“It holds a chronological approximation of the development of our relationship.”

“You recorded notes on us?” It's more than a little weird and I look away from Spock and back at the chip again, slightly creeped out. Spock disappeared for a few minutes when I got the balls necessary over breakfast to ask him to start to fill me in about us, how we got together and everything. I only asked because Bones flatly refuses to tell me a thing. Spock came back and wordlessly handed me this.

“I did not.” A hint of censure. “The chip is yours. I suggest that you view the contents, and I will answer any remaining questions that you have for me once you have done so. I have an academy appointment this morning, which I am able to cancel if you wish -”  

“No, go for it. I'm good, I'll take a look at our, uh, chronological approximation while you're out.”

He inclines his head in one of those tidy nods of his. “I shall be home this afternoon. I will check on Grayson before I leave.”

“Great. You want to bring him down to me if he's awake?” Stupid thing to say, we'd have heard him over the comm system if he was, I forgot.

“Of course. Goodbye, Jim.” 

“Yeah, bye, Spock.”

An awkward pause and he turns, leaves the room, his tread soft on the stairs a moment later. Spock informed me last night that he was retiring to meditate, showing me up to our bedroom first and I went to sleep alone and coyly pajamaed in the huge bed that I usually share with him, waking this morning after a lingering, vaguely distressing squid dream to see an indentation of his head on his pillow that hadn't been there before, but no lingering warmth on his side. It wasn't a surprise that he hadn't slept long, he never seemed to need sleep when I first knew him, but the idea of him lying there next to me at all and me being so totally unaware of it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Did I reach out to him at all, in my sleep? I hope not but I'm usually a friendly sleeper and imagine that, knowing me, I'd probably spend my nights wrapped around a husband like bindweed. The idea of sleeping wrapped around Spock means I need to take a further five minutes under a water shower, beating out a guilty orgasm that makes my toes curl against the tiling.

I look around the living room with the chip in my hand, trying to figure out where I'd stash a nearby PADD if this were my place. Which it is but I didn't think I'd ever live anywhere with so much stuff, little knick-knacks and mementoes on every surface, so many that I feel like I should apologize for all the dusting to Mike, the housekeeper I met this morning. But where's a PADD when you need one? I can't see anything on the shelves. A drawer on the desk seems to make sense, and it gives me an entirely disproportionate sense of achievement when I tug open the top drawer and find a stack of PADDs inside. It's this new, flashy design and it takes me a moment to figure out how to key one up, stuffing in the data chip to start looking at what Spock's got for me just as I hear the front door close behind him. I feel bad, for a moment, wondering if I'd usually see him off in a more personal manner. But it's Spock. I can't, not with him, not like I could fake it easily with somebody else.

A long chain of chronologically listed files appears on the PADD as I access the chip, listed by stardate. I open the first, dated what I calculate as being ten months into the original mission.

Captain 

Thank you for your invitation to the Five Worlds botanical exhibit. I found the evening to be most informative.

Spock (Cmdr)

 

I read it over four times. Did he write me a thank you note over a date? Was that our first date? I bring up the second, dated almost two weeks after the first. 

Captain

I wish to express my gratitude for your introducing me to Kravag Norr cuisine. It was an interesting experience and one that I believe will remain at the forefront of my memory for some time.  

Spock (Cmdr)

 

I took Spock out for Kravag Norr? The hell was I thinking? I don't remember ever disliking him that much but that's a shitty second date in anyone's book. Maybe it was simply a bad joke on my part. I frown, key up another file. This isn't helping me figure out anything other than the fact that Spock's mom obviously drilled the importance of stuff like Thank You notes into him, and that I suck at dating even worse than I thought.

Captain

I concede that you may have had cause in your initial concerns re: Vulcan opera.

Spock (Cmdr)

 

I check the date, then cross-check it with Enterprise's mission files. It was the ship's first visit to the established colony at New Vulcan. I sat through opera for Spock? Or maybe it was a diplomacy thing. Either way, I thought the message was important enough to save. I find the next file.

 

Captain

In answer to your query, I have not been camping, in the Human understanding of the term. The concept of leisure time spent in a flimsily-constructed shelter as a method of recreation is new to me. I trust that you and Dr. McCoy will be able to direct my efforts in the matter.

Spock (Cmdr)

 

I took Spock camping. Well, that seals it – I was definitely after his ass because a night under canvas always makes me horny. I guess I dragged Bones along for support in case Spock turned me down flat. Poor Bones, I owe him a drink. It occurs to me that the next note might hold a clue over whether or not I jumped Spock successfully, and I bring up the wrong file in my rush, closing it out with a curse as I fumble for the right one. It seems very important all of a sudden.

Captain

 

Not the most promising of starts.

I would welcome the opportunity to continue with our discussion regarding practices and traditions typical to 'camping out'. I suggest that your quarters at 2100hrs would make an acceptable setting for said-discussion. 

Spock (Cmdr)

 

I hear an odd little groaning sound and look over in the direction of the comm system before I figure out that it came from me. I jumped Spock on a camping trip. With Bones in the next tent! At least, I hope there was a next tent. God. Maybe I owe Bones more than a drink. I read it over once more, mind boggling over the fact that Spock sent me a booty-comm. Spock – sent me – a booty comm, and signed it with his rank. Fifteen years later and it's totally turning me on. The sound of the front door slamming makes me almost drop the PADD in surprise and I shove it back in the drawer, crossing my legs to disguise the beginnings of a boner as Pui-Shan appears in the doorway.   
   
“Morning, Admiral! Still a blank slate?”  

“And possibly getting blanker.”  

“Oh dear.” She tilts her head with a fake pout. “I'll see if I can get Gray to poop on you later. That'll spark some recent memories.”

“Heh, thanks. I'd like to spend some time with him this morning. What are your plans?”

A huge smile like I did good. “We've got a languages lesson this morning, followed by yoga, then we're going to hit SFMOMA for a little art history before swinging by the Academy to meet Spock for lunch.”

“Art history? Really?” Seems like a bit much for a kid who seems to enjoy sucking on his own foot as much as anything else. She shrugs like it's no big deal.

“Gray's testing off the charts, it's best to keep his brain busy.” 

“He's Spock's kid, he's bound to be scary smart.”

“Nice try, Admiral.” She leaves and I hear her voice trailing up the stairs after her. “Quit fishing, I'm paid to powder your son's behind, not yours."

I turn to the desk and pull the PADD back out, accessing the next file, pulse beginning to jump at the base of my throat as I read it through.

Jim

Last night was most gratifying. That your mind was able to accept my own with such apparent ease is unusual, although I confess that I am learning to expect the unexpected where you are concerned.

Spock 

 

Fuck. I'm buzzing over something so simple, the idea of Spock in my head, the evidence here in front of me that he enjoyed it. One more, I have to make time for one more, even though I can hear Gray upstairs complaining to Pui-Shan that she woke him up. The PADD's like a book I can't bear to put down, needing to flip to the next page to see what happens.

Jim

I apologize for my lack of response during our conversation last night, and I am grateful you accept that I find it difficult to verbally express my regard for you. I wish to reassure you that the sentiment you declared is entirely requited.

Spock

 

It's a month after we first slept together, two months after our first date, and I told him I loved him already? I must have felt it for some time because I'm not the sort of guy to simply blurt it out soon as I feel it. An uncomfortable level of unwanted emotion itches at the back of my throat and I swallow heavily, placing the PADD down on the desk in front of me. It's stupid to be jealous of yourself. Really stupid.

~*~

"So, let me get this right: I got attacked by a twenty meter psychic squid -"

"More accurately, a twenty meter marine cephalopod similar to the Mesonychoteuthis genus on Earth but to a much larger scale -"

I silence the lieutenant with a glare. "My apologies: I got attacked by a twenty meter psychic marine cephalopod as some sort of planned ritual sacrifice?"

Cupcake clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. "It appears so. The Ibahnians believe that the creature is their god, and that it feeds on, uh . . ."

I look at him expectantly and he actually flusters a little, grabbing the PADD off his lieutenant to read off it. "The report from the cultural negotiator explains that the Ibahnians believe that their god feeds on love. Their last three annual harvests had failed due to catastrophic climate change, and they believed they needed to make a meaningful sacrifice to appease their god and therefore avoid planet-wide starvation."

"They believe that the squid-god feeds off love?"

He clears his throat once more and I feel like advising him to take a drink of water. "Yes, Admiral. The report states that the Ibahnians were aware of your marriage and felt it was, and I quote directly from the report here, 'A legendary love affair known across the galaxy to have crossed dimensions and saved entire solar systems'. Sir."

"I got fed to a giant squid on a diplomatic 'welcome' visit because I'm married? For crying out loud . . ."

"It seems that way, yes sir. The Ibahnian government applied for Federation membership in the hope of famine relief, but primarily because they felt that you'd make an ideal sacrifice, which is why you were requested by name to attend the opening negotiations. They had considered other options but felt that Captain Spock as a Vulcan might be less vulnerable to psychic attack, which is why they were so insistent about your presence."

The memory of sharp, biting tentacles tightening around me and squirming into my throat slithers its way into my head once more and I close my eyes, breathe it out in one of the relaxation exercises Bones has me doing, waiting for the warm fuzz to flood my mind in the manner I think I'm becoming a little addicted to. Whatever it did to me, I guess the squid's mind fuck had one nice side effect. My voice is a little more relaxed as a result and I can see Cupcake relaxing a little on the comm screen when I address him next. I have to admit, I'm a petty asshole and get a kick out of how nervous I seem to make him these days.

"Hall and Mentam still haven't discovered the process by which the squid removes memory engrams?"

"Not yet, but the dissection is delicate and on a massive scale, and Doctor Hall is certain they'll have more information for you in a matter of days."

I nod, disappointed but unwilling to show it. "Thanks for the update, Captain, and thank your team for me. I'll expect another report soon as there's any progress."

"Of course, Admiral. Jules Verne out."

I relax back into my desk chair, closing my eyes, exhausted by one short morning and a million debriefings back at HQ. The irony of the situation strikes me as particularly biting, that I got fed to the squid because everyone in the Federation has heard about how much I'm in love with Spock, and now I can't even remember it myself. I spin around in my chair a few times, wondering if I can hide out in my office and avoid any further discussion of squids or of Operations or any further updates on everything I've missed. My head's already buzzing with too much, a tension headache throbbing at the base of my neck from still not having a grip on anything after this long, the trauma still waiting for a moment's weakness to make itself known once more. I woke alone again this morning with a faint memory of waking at some time in the night after another nightmare, a gentle hand on my back stroking over my skin and soothing me back into sleep. If nothing else, it made me thankful that I quit my attack of the prudes and returned to sleeping naked, figuring that Spock must be used to it after all these years. It makes me wonder if he sleeps nude too and I find myself lying in bed late into the night, trying to stay awake long enough to find out. It never works.

Over two weeks at home with Spock now and it feels like I don't really know him any better, but I'm working my way through the data chip of his notes to me and am finding myself more and more drawn to him, all the unstated passion, the love in them, which he keeps so tightly wrapped up in himself that I only catch an occasional glimpse of it in person. I hear it in hs voice, level and totally patient as I listen to him reasoning with a grumpy, withdrawn Lejiba upstairs at her bedroom door before coaxing her down to a family dinner that ends in her smiling at me for the first time since I've been home, the first time that I remember. I see it in the way he is with Gray, relaxed and affectionate and matter of fact, and in the clear evidence that Gray adores him in return. And the way he looked at me when I come out of the bathroom after a shower with a towel slung around my hips under my gut, Spock's eyes all over me dark and hot for a second before he excuses himself quietly and leaves the bedroom. 

I guess he doesn't care that I got fat, but I spend forty minutes each day in our gym trying to work it off and run into Spock again there later on, unaware he was even home yet. I'm a mess, red in the face and sweating like a pig and he's beautiful, composed and half-stripped in exercise pants, his chest and feet bare. He nods at me with a measured 'Good afternoon, Jim. Have you had a productive day?' before starting to stretch, waiting for my response. I watch him, open-mouthed, unable to tear my eyes away from the way his body moves, the long limbs and that slim, taut torso, the body and chest hair that I'd never have suspected to be there and the way it tapers down his flat stomach to point its way to Happy Town. He notices me watching him and I stutter out an apology, to which he gazes back at me and states simply that he is glad that I have the desire to look. A long, heated pause flashes between us and, for maybe the first time in my life, I chicken out of something and leave. Things would be much easier if I just wanted to fuck him, but I read through more of his notes to me whenever I get a moment, a building testament to a relationship that, seen through Spock's eyes at least, seems to work, and I find myself wanting more with no idea how to go about getting it. I want my memory back. I want all of it and find myself getting more frustrated with every day that passes without even the slightest hint of recovery.

My desk clock chimes the hour and I open my eyes as my PA comes in with a stack of PADDs for me to look through and sign, and a cup of coffee because, much as I tried to like it for all of a day, tea tastes like Klingon piss and I can't believe that I was ever so whipped that I gave up coffee for it. Then it's time for a meeting with department heads, most of whom it turns out I vaguely remember from my academy days and it's a mental derailment, looking at the faces around the conference table and seeing so many years marking them all of a sudden. I guess we all ended up running things because there were so few of us left after Nero cut a swath through Starfleet. Strange to think how he's still affecting things so long after his death.

"Admiral! Wait up! Hey, Admiral Kirk, that thing make you go deaf, too?" It finally dawns on me that the person is calling out to me. I'm an Admiral! Still blowing my mind after a month. I turn around to see Uhura catching up to me and I do my best to be polite and not leer all over her but it's tough because, goddamn, she got older in the nicest way. She's no longer so slender, heavier now in the hips and bust, a whole heap of curves poured into a uniform that looks like she's had it refitted by some expert couturier, her hair cropped short to show off that regal face and those killer cheekbones. Wow, Spock totally traded down. It's a surprise when she flings her arms around me for a warm hug, her smile genuine as she cups my face with both hands for a moment before dropping them away and smacking me on the arm. 

"Ow. That's insubordination, Mister."

"A psychic squid? Only you, I swear to God. Have you any idea how worried we all were?"

"Okay, you know how I don't remember anything much? You've heard about that?"

She nods, reaching out to stroke my arm over my uniform jacket like she wants to touch me, as if she wants a physical connection. "Yeah, Bones told me all of it."

"Last I remember, you wouldn't have shed a tear over me getting squished by a giant squid. In fact, I think you might've encouraged it."

"Oh, pft." She shrugs like it's nothing. "Water under the bridge a long time ago. You got time for lunch? You know I know all the gossip you missed out on that you're not going to find in any official records."

"Look at who you're talking to: I'm an admiral, I can do whatever the hell I want."

Which, it turns out, isn't true and I have one further comm conference to wrap up quick as I can, barely keeping track of what everyone's talking about no matter how often my PA, Luca, whispers reminders in my ear. It means I'm more than ready to share a bottle of wine once I'm finally done for the day, watching Nyota suck at her crawdad shells with buttery fingers while I attack a plate of garlicky grilled baby octopus with spiteful glee. She was sure it would give me a flashback and wanted to avoid a seafood restaurant altogether, but she's wrong and chewing on each and every sucker is a vindictive kind of justice that's as ridiculous as it is rubbery and delicious. 

"You know Bones is worried about you."

We're halfway through our second bottle of wine, a pot of coffee cooling ignored between us on the table, dessert long since cleared away. "Bones is always worried about me."

"True, but it's not bodily harm he's worried about this time. He says that you're not, you know, sorting things out with Spock."

I frown into my wine, then finish the glass, reaching out to pour another and topping hers up. "What did he expect? That I'd come home and simply start up where I'd left off?"

"I guess we all did. You don't understand: you and Spock are meant for each other, you have to get it working again."

"Is it really any of anyone else's business? I don't mean to be rude -"

She laughs into her glass. "Sure you do." Takes a gulp, her eyes narrowed at me over the rim. "It's our business because we're your friends and we care about you. You'd be lost without Spock and, Spock, I don't know, I think he'd seriously physically suffer if anything happened to you or your bond. He's very reliant on it and this whole thing has been tough on him. I bumped into him a few days ago at the academy and he was much more withdrawn than usual."

"Our bond?" It's as if everything has stilled around me.

"Your bond. You know, your psychic bond. Your soul bond, Jim, don't tell me this is news to you, it's how Spock alerted the Endeavor to your attack. Surely when Bones told you that you're married to Spock -"

I gape at her, my mind spinning on its axis. "I'm mentally bonded to Spock?No, Bones didn't tell me. What the hell does that even mean?"

"Jim, I'm sorry, I thought you were aware . . . I guess all I really know about it is stuff you've told me over the years. You and he have a psychic link, the bond itself. Not, like, telepathy, more like a permanent mental and physical awareness of the other. There was even a small scandal about it when Fleet officially recognized your relationship, because Komack tried to have you barred from attending a senior operations quorum because issues on the table for discussion went over Spock's level of clearance, and Komack was convinced Spock would sticky beak on it all through your bond. You had to explain it doesn't work that way. Can't you feel him? From everything you've told me about it and how much stress you've been through recently, I'm surprised you haven't noticed Spock's presence."

I've always been clear with everyone around me that I'm not as smart as aptitude testing suggests, and it's taken way too long for me to figure this out. Every time it's happened, every horrifying recollection of the attack, every setback and every nightmare, each time I've been tired and worried and hating how confusing everything is these days, that warm flood of mental comfort I'd get in return had nothing to do with lingering aftereffects of the psychic attack. I should've known, because it felt like something warm and good, like someone wrapping a soft blanket around you after you've been caught in the rain. It was Spock all along, feeling my distress and, I don't know, somehow sending me a mental embrace of sorts. Maybe it's because I'm a little drunk, or because I'm tired after a frustrating day of knowing precisely dick about my own job, or simply that I'm sick of this, being stuck in a life that feels like it's not mine no matter how much I ache for it to be real. 

Whatever it is, I'm anticipating Spock's response, guessing that he must be able to feel that I'm confused and a little shocked at the idea of having someone take up permanent residence in my head. So when the warm rush of drugging bliss comes, something I recognize now as a flood of pure love wrapping itself around my mind, I get pissed. My mind is my own, it's pretty much the only thing I've ever had that nobody could touch without my say so. Now I'm aware of it, Nyota's eyes focused on me as I look at her and feel unjustly mad at Spock, I notice a brief flicker of emotion that's not mine, a hint of confusion and worry that comes from somewhere deep in my head. It feels so entirely wrong, to have Spock's emotions in my mind, Spock of all people, that I get angrier, throwing back the last of my wine and getting to my feet. My communicator warbles at me as I'm digging out my credit chip to press against the pay stub at the table and I flip it open, fairly certain who it's going to be.

"Kirk here."

"Jim, are you well?"

"No, Spock, I'm not. Where are you?"

"I am currently within my department, but am able to leave if you need my assistance."

"Meet me at home. We need to talk."

I close out the communicator without waiting for his answer and Nyota takes me by the elbow, turning me towards her, her fingers soft as she strokes across my uniform lapels. "Jim, I love you, very much and you've been a wonderful friend to me over the years, but I said this to you a long time ago and think it needs repeating: If you hurt Spock, I'll rip off your balls. Do we understand each other?"


	3. Chapter 3

I arrive home and Spock's already waiting for me in the living room, more gorgeous in his uniform than is entirely fair. He's seated on the couch looking unflappable, one of my books open in his lap, his face composed but, now that I'm aware of it, I can feel his concern for me filtering through the bond and into my mind. It's so unselfish, that even though I'm worrying him and even if he is as reliant on our bond as Nyota seemed to think, it's all about me, not a shred of unease about what any of this means for him. I'm a contrary asshole because it only makes me madder and I point a finger at him accusingly from across the room as I walk towards him.

"You! You're the thing in my head!"

An eyebrow flicks upwards. "You are referring to our bond?"

"Damn skippy, I am. It didn't occur to you that I might like to be informed that you've got ready access to my mind?"

Spock closes the book, placing it on the low table in front of him. "You are intoxicated. Perhaps it would be worthwhile for us to leave this discussion until you are more able to participate in a sober manner."

"I'm sober enough." I'm standing over him, hands on my hips, glaring down at him in a way that seems to provoke the smallest touch of indulgence to filter through from him to me. "Oh, don't even think of humoring me, I have every right to be mad. None of you thought to remind me about the fact that we're mentally linked, right from the start? You don't get that this is a big deal for me? You must know my personal history, Spock, I wouldn't keep all that from the person I'm married to. You above all people should get why this is difficult for me to deal with."

"Jim -"

"You're supposed to love me so much and you don't even start to think about what this thing means for me. I don't appreciate it, not at all. "

I feel a mental flinch as he bristles on the couch, his eyes going hard. "Our bond is not a thing. As a matter of record, our particular bond is rare, and highly respected in Vulcan culture. We have been very fortunate in our finding of one another."

"Fortunate? You call this lucky? Because I don't feel very fucking lucky right now. I got mindraped by a goddamn monster and only now do I find out that you've been sneaking a grope of your own all along."

That one got to him and I wouldn't have known it to look at him, his eyes merely shifting from mine as he looks at the wall behind my shoulder and nods. It's so noble, so completely selfless in the way he bears my accusation with silent acceptance and a mind full of bewildered hurt. It makes me feel like a total bastard and the anger pours out of me like someone pulled the plug as I slump down on the couch next to him and rub over my mouth with my hands, wishing I could take the words back. "God, Spock. I'm sorry. You must know me well enough to realize I say shitty stuff that I don't necessarily mean when I'm mad."

A pause and then a touch at my knee, his fingers resting there gently. I look down at them, wondering if he's aware of the pulse of arousal they shoot up my thigh and into my nuts. "You are correct, I should have anticipated your unease with a bond you not made aware of. It is so much a part of me now that I am unable to think of it in anything but positive terms, and that, without it, I may have lost you . . ."

It's more than a thin mental thread now, a flood of love tinged with fear and a touch of panic, and I cover his hand with my own, wanting to comfort him. His eyes meet mine, unnerving in how opaque they are right now but I feel it, desire, want and physical need pouring off him at the touch of my skin against his own. I pull my hand away in a hurry, unsettled by such an intense reaction to a simple touch. "Maybe you're right, we should leave this till later because I feel like I keep screwing up. You didn't lose me, I'm here, I'm just, I don't know, not myself. So I'll probably keep screwing up till I get my memory back and I need you to give me some wriggle room on that."

"Of course. I have attempted to make allowances -"

"I get that, and I appreciate it." This is possibly the most mature conversation I've ever had in my life.

"But I must ask that you also make them on my behalf. That you have been so removed from me has been problematic. Nothing, I am sure, in comparison with those issues you must encounter daily -"

"I know this is tough on you. I'm sorry that I'm not him, Spock. I'm sorry I'm not your husband."

Warmth, and reassurance, a not-smile. "You are yourself, Jim, unchanged from the moment I first saw you. Make no mistake of it." He reaches out to pick up the book from the table, moving up off the couch to place it on a shelf before walking towards the door, turning back to me before he leaves. "It is likely that your consumption of alcohol has left you suffering low level dehydration. I will prepare us some tea before we continue with the discussion regarding our bond, and how we might best progress from this point forward."

Tea? Eugh. I watch him leave the room as I get to my feet, calling out after him as I follow. "Yeah, the tea's another thing we have got to talk about."

~*~

Jim

You accept that Vulcans make possessive, dominant lovers. I accept, further to our discussion on the matter last night, that it would be inappropriate of me to in any way seek to influence your eventual choice in the appointment of your personal assistant. I also note that your description of Lt. L DiMarco as 'a hot piece of ass' is potentially inaccurate, as I have not detected peculiar levels of heat radiation emanating from Lt. DiMarco's buttocks. You may wish to request that Lt. DiMarco submits to further testing on the matter prior to making your final decision. 

I would not personally recommend that you take that course of action.

Spock

 

I laugh into my knuckles. I'm almost caught up on seventeen years' worth of love notes, all of them imbued with Spock's brand of wry humor and the persistence of his desire for me. Dominant lover. I read it over and grin, squirm in the leather chair in my den, ass hungry all of a sudden, clenching hard as my dick unfurls to press against the front of my pants. I try in complete futility to suppress it, still a little uncomfortable with the idea that Spock undoubtedly knows I'm getting horny, now that he's explained the bond more fully to me. Sucks that he gets more off it than I do off him, what with him being a telepath and me being about as telepathic as your average amoeba. I key up another file, wondering what this one will bring with it. I've jacked off to more than a few, his more descriptive notes that detail, word by word, precisely what he was planning to do with me that evening. It sounds like our sex life was lively, creative and extremely energetic, hell, even I miss it and I don't remember it. But some of the notes have been shot through with such longing when we've been separated by light years, or with such love, especially after key events such as our marriage or leading up to Gray's birth, when every word is laden with gratitude and reverence. 

Jim

You are incorrect: My father does not view you as 'a lower form of life'. My father understands that you are a parent to his grandchildren, his son's bondmate, a member of his household and of the same species as his deceased wife. 

I believe, however, that he may have concerns regarding the nature of your sense of humor. Such as it is.

Spock

 

My husband's a snarky bitch, but then I already suspected that and this is simply confirmation of the fact. I like him, more than I thought was possible. It's weird to be thinking of him as my husband at all, so used as I am to categorizing Spock neatly as Vulcan/Colleague/Uptight Jackass/Tentative Friend/Masturbation Material, depending on my frame of mind at the time. But over a month back at home with him now, sleeping in his bed, reading his notes and spending time with him and the kids, it's like the lines are blurring. He's becoming simply Spock, uncategorizable beyond the simple descriptor Husband that seems to cover him neatly. 

Jim

One day into your journey towards Ibahn, and your husband misses you. It is distracting and unwelcome. Please immediately desist being missable. 

I appreciate your compliance in this matter. 

Spock

 

There's a holofile attached, a photo of an almost-smiling Lejiba holding Gray up, a much decorated sign in what I recognize now as Lejiba's handwriting held in Gray's chubby fists, We love you, Dad!!! Come Home Soon!! A lump the size of Jupiter settles in my throat, knowing I would've read this a few days before it all got stolen from me, and from them. I didn't know I'd ever be this wanted. I never realized that family life would be like this, that being needed and relied on could be as welcome as it is a burden to bear. I look into the eyes of a family that misses me. I can't close the file out, propping the PADD up on my desk and sitting back in my chair to look at the kids, knowing that, even if I don't love them in the same way that I used to, that they're a part of me now and that I could no more walk away from them than I could chew off my own legs. I have to make it work with Spock, even if it's looking increasingly unlikely that my missing memory engrams will ever be returned to me, the study of the squid coming up with no more than an enormous pile of finely-chopped calamari. I hate that I've missed out on so much. I can't miss out on any more simply because I'm scared shitless of something that I can't even put into words.

My door chimes and Pui-Shan carries Gray in, and he holds out his hands to me, bouncing up and down in her arms in excitement. That's never going to get old, this little soul being so totally overjoyed to see me, every single time. He grabs at my ears and DADADADAs against my forehead as I hold him tight against me and marvel at his solidity, in the miniature muscular frame beneath the drool-soaked bib and baby fat. Then his hand makes a grab at my eyebrow tugging a little and his fingers stretch out across my eye, his forefinger brushing over one point and it's like my mind's suddenly screwed into an intensely focused knot of contented-feeling Daddy Mine Banana Funny Milk before his hand moves on to smack at my cheek in glee. 

"Whoa, Gray's a telepath?"

Pui-Shan looks concerned, a slight frown creasing the skin between her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"He just melded with me. A little bit."

"Gray, honey? Look at me, Gray - Did you meld with your daddy? Did you touch Daddy's mind?" 

Gray laughs and claps his hands, blows a raspberry in my face. I blow one back. "Did we not know he's telepathic? I'm sure that's what it was."

She's smiling at Gray, his fingers wrapped tight around one of hers. "We had an idea that he might have the innate capability but it's highly unusual to manifest this early. Like, pretty much unheard of, the Vulcan Embassy's probably going to want to have him in for testing because untrained telepathy can be dangerous. Well, I guess I don't need to tell you that. You want to go to Grandpa's place for some special games, Gray? Would that be fun? You love your Grandpa, don't you?"

"Sarek's good with the kids?"

"Oh, sure. I get the impression he's much more relaxed with them than he ever was with Spock, but that's normal with grandparents, Vulcan or not. Sarek and Lejiba have, like, their own little mutual adoration society. He takes her out for lunch at a different restaurant every month and has been to every one of her recitals since she started playing, even the ones off-world. You're never going to be his favorite person but he dotes on the kids."

"Hah! I knew he didn't like me."

"I've heard that you didn't make the greatest first impression on him." 

"I guess not." I rub my nose against Gray's as he gurgles at me and tries to poke my eye out. A telepathic baby, just when you don't think life's going to get any weirder than monster mind-sucking squids. I'm guessing complacency's no longer an option in my life, if it ever was.

"I'm taking Gray and Lejiba shopping later for party outfits. You want to tag along? I think Lejiba would like it if you did, not that pain of torture would get her to admit it."

"Party? What, Christmas?"

Pui-Shan sighs, groans, resting the heel of her hand against her forehead briefly. "I swear to God, that husband of yours is less empathic than a stick. I can't believe he didn't remind you this was coming up or think to ask if you'd want to cancel it this year. I mean, everyone would've understood if you had but it's a little late now. You guys have this huge Thanksgiving party here every year. It's a thing for anyone left in town not visiting family. Half of HQ and Spock's students will be here, all your friends. It's pretty legendary." 

"But that's next week."

"It is. Hence the shopping trip." 

"And I'm not going to recognize half the people there? Goddammit, Spock." 

Her smile doesn't falter, much as her eyes pretty much slice me in two. "Gray, Daddy said a funny word that means he likes Pops very much. Right, Daddy?"

I nod, chastened, smile at Gray. "Right. Ever so much."

~*~

My eyes are out on stalks as Pui-Shan pats my back like she does when she's trying to make Gray burp, soothing my nerves as Lejiba turns in front of me in a dress that barely covers, well, anything important, way too much smooth purple skin on show.

"It's the fashion now, Admiral. Right, Lejiba?"

"I don't care about fashion."

"Awesome." I hold up a cobwebby thing that at least looks like it has sleeves. And a skirt. "So we can try this one next, right?"

She looks horrified, as if I suggested she should try on, I don't know, a dress made of tongue or something. "God, no. Just, you sit there and don't say anything, okay? And don't look at me. Watch Gray."

"Gray's sleeping, and I think it's my duty as your father to ensure that any clothes you wear before the age of eighteen at the very least cover both buttcheeks in their entirety. Here." I wave the cobwebby thing at her again. "At least try it. You've tried every other dress in the store on so far."

"Then leave, you don't have to stay. I don't know why you decided to butt in, anyway."

It feels like my smile's tattooed on my face, I've kept it there so long now by effort of will alone. "Of course I wanted to come, I love dress shopping more than life. Come on, try this one. For me?"

It's grabbed out of my hands with a frustrated grunt and she stomps off in her boots back into the private dressing booth. Pui-Shan even starts humming under her breath, patting at my back still like I'm teething. I glare at her and she smiles back at me innocently. "Having a good time?"

"if I want to bond with Lejiba, maybe I should just take her hoverscooter shopping or something."

Pui-Shan's eyebrows shoot up. "You think talking your fifteen year old daughter into hoverscooter ownership's a good idea? That's . . . interesting."

"I used to have a bike." I can tell I'm getting all dreamy-eyed and nostalgic for something that didn't seem like a big deal at the time. "It was so cool, I gave it up when I enlisted. Hey, maybe I should get another one, now I'm earthbound."

"Spock wouldn't approve. I thought Gray was supposed to be your mid-life crisis?"

"That's what Bones said." I look down at Gray sleeping in the buggy, hand clutching a dirty grey rag that I found out used to be the corner of one of Spock's robes. His cheeks are perfect half-globes, peachy and splotchy red with teething pains, his mouth puckered in sleep, his other hand a small pink starfish stretched out across his chest. Looking at him hurts. Physically hurts, like he's too perfect, like I'm looking directly into the sun and can't stop. His dark slashes of eyebrow and thick black sweep of lashes lying over each cheek remind me painfully of Spock and I can't help but reach out to trace a finger along one brow. He shifts in his sleep and Pui-Shan grabs my hand away, 

"You wake him, you get to deal with mega-cranky baby for the next hour."

Lejiba steps back out, her legs way too long in a dress that's too short for my liking. But it covers her ass, and other . . . stuff. "That's better. That's way better."

"It's gross. I look gross."

"You look beautiful. I don't like it." I mean it, she does. So delicate but with an obvious strength, long lean lines like Spock, some of the same elegance even though she's hunched over as usual, her face hidden behind her hair. 

"Quit saying that."

"No. You can't make me, you are." I get up, stand in front of her and take her hands in mine, noticing the nails bitten down to the quick like mine always were before being a captain had me too busy to breathe. "You look way too old for your age and disturbingly pretty. It's too tight and shows way too much leg. Maybe if you bought a skirt to go with it and some sort of wrap? It's too short in the back, and it's kind of see-through. Does it come with something to wear under it?"

She pulls her hands back, her hair batting me in the face as she turns swiftly to go back into the dressing cubicle. "This one, then. No skirt, no wrap. You're such an old fart, Dad."

Tactics. I didn't get made Admiral for nothing.

~*~

There's a bite in the air today, clouds thick and hanging low over the bay. A wind that whisks my lab-born hair into a quiff as I chop my way through a pile of logs as high as my shoulder, feeling macho as shit until I screw up a tendon in my back and have to limp through to the kitchen to dig the regenerator out of the house first aid kit. It's been a strange week, Spock sliding around the corners of my mind as we spend less time with each other, him busy at the academy with Fall Break coming up and everything a little changed between us since the conversation about our bond. Then I woke this morning and he was still in bed with me, probably because I was wrapped around him the way Gray grabs hold of one finger and holds on with all his strength.

My waking is a slow one, aware that I'm warm and relaxed and haven't had a nightmare for the first time in over a month. Then I become aware of smooth skin beneath my hands, and I Mmmm into my pillow, allowing my fingers to trail where they want, shifting my hips closer against the thigh between mine, and there's this scent that's everywhere and I can't figure out what it is so I slowly open my eyes and look directly into Spock's, looking back at me where his face is inches from mine, his arms around my waist as my hands smooth up and down his back. I look into his eyes, my hands quit stroking, my heart jumps up into my throat in panic when I figure out that I'm pretty much humping his leg, and I roll away from him with a frantic 'Shit!'

"I'm sorry! I didn't - Sorry."

"I am unsure for what." His hair is tufted up on one side, his bangs mussed with sleep and I curl my fingers against my thigh with the desire to reach out and smooth it all back. The room's silent, the windows at fifty percent opacity allowing the last of a golden dawn to cast a deep yellow light across the bed, highlighting Spock's cheekbones, the brutish line of his nose, that flippant upper line of his mouth. He looks happy, for him. We lie like that, turned towards each other, his foot resting lightly against one of mine and I smile at him, knowing he must feel it from me, that this is okay, that it feels like something natural. I nuzzle deeper into the pillow, unwilling to force myself up out of bed. This is a great way to wake up. The greatest. I feel another, familiar spurt of envy for the other me, that he got used to this, to waking up relaxed and warm next to someone as beautiful as Spock looks in the morning, sleepy-eyed and loose-limbed. Hell, other me got to wake up with this Spock and, I imagine, roll around for half an hour or so having sex. Spock blinks slowly at me, an almost-smile bringing his cheekbone into sharper relief.

"I am here to attend to your needs. If you wish it."

"Easy as that, huh?"

An expression that I recognize as his version of a shrug. "The Vulcan libido matches the needs of its partner, as a general rule."

"You're shitting me." Fuck. If Spock's libido comes close to matching mine, I can see why I married him.

"Amongst other reasons."

"God! Don't do that."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Do what?" 

"Don't verbally reply to stuff I haven't said aloud." 

"No?"

"No." I run my toes a couple of inches up his ankle and his fingers find my naked hip and I'm smiling at him, my dick growing heavy and hard against the bed. His nose bumps mine as we move closer together and I can't think of a better setting than this for what, to me, is a first kiss. A bed-rumpled Vulcan, his skin brushing against mine, his hand now flat on the top of my asscheek and a smile in his warm brown eyes as I shift my head and press my mouth to his. I'm ready to dive into him but a slight whimper followed by a stuttering cry filtering through the comm system tells us Gray's woken a little earlier than he wanted to. Spock's lips brush over mine and it's heartbreakingly perfect for the shortest time before he's pulling away. 

"I will see to Gray. Perhaps he will settle back to sleep and allow us to continue."

I watch as he moves out of the bed, the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles of his back stretching and bunching as he pulls on a robe. I roll onto my back, reaching down to spread my legs and cup my nuts beneath the sheet, smiling at Spock as he narrows his eyes at me over his shoulder and I laugh as he leaves the room without a further word. I move into the space he's vacated, rolling onto my stomach and pushing my face into his pillow, my eyes closed, soaking in the lingering warmth as I hear his hushed greeting to Gray in the next room. 

I'm not sure I've ever been this relaxed, and I'm the most content I've been in so many weeks of confusion, the constant exhaustion of trying to remember everything in a world that's suddenly new to me again. I'm drifting back off to sleep, my body drowsily turned on, when I hear it, so softly at first that I'm not sure whether I'm dreaming it or not. He's singing to Gray. I can picture it in my mind, having seen him with Gray a hundred times now, the way Gray rests his head under Spock's chin, arms tucked in, one of Spock's hands holding Gray firmly into his side, moving gently from foot to foot with a slight sway that's hypnotic to watch. But his voice joins it now, a language that either I don't understand or have had taken from me, and he's unexpectedly got this melodic voice that twists in my chest as I imagine him with Gray tucked under his chin, swaying from foot to foot, singing our son a lullaby while I wait in bed for him. I smile into his pillow and know that I'm in love with Spock. Or still in love with him, I don't know anymore, maybe it's something that's impossible to eradicate completely. 

He never came back to bed. I dozed for twenty minutes, eventually dragging myself out of bed to find him sitting in Gray's room, Gray sprawled asleep over Spock's chest while Spock silently worked on a PADD, his eyes dark and filled with humor as he looked across the room at me before I quietly closed the door and left them to it. There's been no opportunity since as he's up and out of bed as usual before my eyes open, and the few times I've seen Spock has been in passing, handing kids and household issues to one another. But I feel it. I look in his eyes and feel his thoughts warm in my direction, a simmering heat that follows my actions all day, an awareness of him as I sit at my desk and pretend like I have a clue what admirals are supposed to do with their time other than sneak into the fresher to jack off between meetings. I've never been so wrapped up in a person as this, and he's in every cycle of my life, my work, my home, in each of my thoughts, physically a part of my mind. Spock's become my context, my tether, my touchstone in every way.

I drag a basketful of logs indoors once my back's fixed and bank up the fire in the log burner in my den, noticing an active message blinking on my console, which is aggravating as it's practically the holidays already. I throw myself back into my chair with a couple of fingers of malt and key it up, expecting some nervous request from a lieutenant wanting my advice on getting ahead.

Jim

My stomach completes a lazy backflip and I smile against the lip of my glass. 

The touch of your mind seems to be returning to where it once was, a familiarity with my own that has been absent. It is as if you have returned to me for a second time. For this, and for much else, I am thankful.

Spock

 

I wish I'd known earlier that he was like this. The frustration returns, more intense now that I'm beginning to realize what it is that I've lost. I slowly drain my glass, reading it over, aching for what's gone, for good if the latest reports are to be believed.

~*~

Lejiba's picking at her cuticles as a group of who I'm presuming are her friends point at various people around the room and laugh at them. They don't seem like a great bunch of kids and I'm glad to see that she's not participating, looking out the window as if she's bored. But then I see an odd sheen to her eyes and she blinks rapidly, glaring out the window towards the bay, so I get to my feet from where I'm sitting watching Bones going through private agonies of jealousy as Scotty's proud arm curls tighter around Uhura's waist. It takes me five minutes of moving from group to group, mingling as I go with people I don't recognize and am not sure whether I'm suppose to or not, to finally make it over to stand in front of Lejiba.

"They're playing our song. Come dance with me?"

Her eyes spit green fire at me, her voice lowered to an angry hiss. "We don't have a song, and there is no way I'm doing anything with you after that spectacle you made of yourself earlier."

"You didn't like my version of the Andorian Polka? I thought I kicked ass." Literally, it's kind of energetic and I seem to recall I actually made contact a few times but that might just be the punch talking. 

"In front of my friends, too. It's, like, social death. Do you have any idea what it's like, having Admiral Polka for a dad? You might as well ground me for the next year because nobody's going to come near me now."

I guess I don't get that she's genuinely mad until she turns on the spot and starts to stalk away. I grab her elbow and spin her back towards me, at a loss with how I can try to apologize to her without apologizing for having a good time at a party that I was not looking forward to. "We are going to dance, and you are going to smile at me and act like you're enjoying it, because I'm your dad and that's what you do with parents. You humor us."

She's rigid with tension but allows me to pull her towards the area around her piano where a few couples are dancing to the piano player Pui-Shan hired once Lejiba flat refused to 'Act like a performing monkey all night.' I've only ever done this with lovers or potential lovers, and dancing with moody teenage daughters is a skill I hadn't expected I'd ever need so I'm a little clumsy when I place a hand on her back, holding the other up as I begin to step from foot to foot, pulling her into an unwilling dance.

"You look beautiful. So grown up. I can't believe you start college next year."

A heavy sigh as she gazes stonily at my chest and doesn't respond. I try a few more times at starting conversation but she either answers monosyllabically or doesn't bother to answer at all. Eventually I have to give up and try the honest approach, as it's the first opportunity I've had to really talk to her and the song'll be over in a few minutes.

"They don't think I'm going to get my memory back. At least, not for some time, maybe when technology catches up or something." She doesn't look at me or anything but I notice that she inches a little closer toward me, her fingers tight on my shirt. "I'm sure you must miss who I was, before."

She's so close now that her forehead brushes the front of my shirt, both hands clutching at me now and her voice has lost its harsh edge. "And Pops can't help? Or Sarek? They can get a healer to meld with you, maybe -"

"No. There's nothing they can do if the engrams aren't there. They've been permanently wiped. I'm sorry, honey."

"I can't believe you thought this was the best place to tell me." But it's muffled in my chest and I wrap my arms around her as she allows me to hold her close. I don't remember ever doing this before, all her fragility and grace cradled against me. She's become so precious to me that it aches when I hear her sniff, rubbing her nose in my shirt. 

"I'm so sorry." It's all I can think of to say.

"I guess it's okay. " Still mufffled. "You're pretty much back to being as lame as you were before, and we remember it all for you. Much as I've tried to forget some of the worse stuff."

I love the quirk of humor in her, how fast she bounces back. "Like what?"

"What is it with you and camping? You and Pops. All my friends get to go to Risa and I get dragged camping. And you and Uncle Scotty on your birthday, every year. You get so drunk and tell me for, like, half an hour how proud you are of me then you cry a little and want to cuddle me, and you stink."

"What are you talking about? That sounds awesome. I'm the greatest parent alive." I twirl her into a dip. "Admit it - I'm the best dad. Not Spock. You like me best, right?"

"Let me up or die."

The song's finishing and the pianist segues into a slower number and I pull Lejiba into me tighter for a quick hug. "I am proud of you. I think you're amazing. You're my girl, right?"

Her arms go tight around my waist, a low hiccup of emotion. "You haven't called me that in forever. I can't believe you remembered."

"Because it's true. That'll never change." 

I'm moving us both gently to the music and feel a tap on my shoulder, looking over the top of Lejiba's head to look into Spock's eyes. "I wish to cut in."

"Finally!" Lejiba pulls away, unwrapping herself from me and giving Spock a quick half-hug. "You took your time rescuing me."

"The intention behind my interruption was to dance with my daughter. As far as my understanding of the action goes, if I wished to dance with Jim, I would have tapped on your shoulder."

"I don't care." She gives me a little budge towards Spock with both hands, turning to head back towards her friends. "My embarrassment is total. You guys might as well compound it and traumatize me completely."

I smile into Spock's neck as his arms go around me, totally unfamiliar but so perfect that it feels like I can remember, as if my body remembers him. It's somehow not strange to dance with him like this, a soft sway that's not so much of a dance as a shuffle, moving against him and pulling away long enough to look into his eyes, tracing along with his jaw with my thumb as a hint of lust passes from him into the depths of my mind. I murmur it, 'You know that I love you', a statement of fact because I know he does, that he can feel it flooding out of me with every touch, that it must buzz along the bond into his mind. 

"Any chance we can sneak out of our own party?" It's a stupid question, there's over a hundred guests crowding out the house and me dragging Spock up to the bedroom over one shoulder caveman-style might get noticed.

"I do not believe so."

I slide a hand under Spock's jacket, brushing my fingers along the skin of his back. "Anything we can do to wrap it up early? You've got to have access to some smart-bugs in the Academy labs."

"I am afraid nothing that would not endanger our lives, along with those of our children." His nose rubs along the curve of my ear and I think he takes a deep breath there, like he's drawing in my scent. I can feel his desire simmering away under my skin and it's all I can do to not turn into him and shove my tongue down his throat. I content myself with a brief brush of my mouth against his, resting my cheek for one longer moment against his before the song ends and we part. Maybe the whole room had been watching us, glad we seem to be sorting everything out since the incident, but just now, just for this second as his fingers brush against mine, it feels like we're entirely alone and my whole universe is suddenly a pair of eyes that know me inside out.

~*~

It's not how I thought it would be. All these weeks, this long, slow build and I figure it'll be like the other morning, a lazy exploration as we relearn each other. Instead the door slides shut behind us as we walk from the now-quiet house into our bedroom and he's on me, hands that are stronger than I ever imagined holding me tight against the wall as Spock's mouth forces mine open. Not that I take much persuading. I haven't been this desperately horny since I was a teen, and never thought I'd be in my forties, trying to tear someone's clothes off because I'm so hungry to get to the skin underneath. He wasn't kidding about the dominant thing, manhandling me like I'm a ragdoll, flipping me over to press my front into the wall as he removes my shirt and bites at my neck and shoulders, reaching around to possessively shove a hand into my pants to cup my dick and begin to rub. I have no idea what's driving me crazier, his mouth or his hand, the low growls rumbling up from the depths of the chest rubbing fuzzily against my back or the thread of out of control lust fizzing along our link like a timed charge. I have to drag his hand away eventually and beg him to go over to the bed, so sure I am that Spock's going to simply tear the pants off me and fuck me up against this wall. Which, don't get me wrong, would be awesome in its own way.

He's somehow managed to work me half out of my pants by the time we're at the bed and I'm shoved down, a look of triumph flitting across Spock's face as he strips out of his clothes, looking down at me as I do my damndest to pour as much Fuck Me Now, Fuck Me Hard through the link towards him as I look up all slitty eyed, licking my lips like some I'm some skinny twink out of a pornvid rather than a fat forty-plus admiral preparing to get fucked by his husband of fifteen years. Then Gray decides to wake up and wail, and I'm pretty much ready to do a one-eighty on all my warm fuzzy new feelings about parenthood. Spock flashes a dark look at me, refastening his pants and moving towards the door to tend to Gray, turning before he leaves to let his eyes run over every inch of my exposed skin. 

"May I suggest that you utilize my absence to ready your body for intercourse?"

"I always did appreciate how efficiently you think. Tell me - are nerve pinches bad for babies? Theoretically speaking." 

An eyebrow in my direction and he's gone, his voice a low and slightly disconcerting murmur over the comm as I kick my way out of my pants and shoes, and replicate a small cup of lube to start fingerfucking myself with. My skin's smarting all over, aware I'm spread out and waiting for him. Then Gray takes too long to settle down, and the punch and one fuck of a long week takes its toll, and I begin to doze across the sheet with two fingers seated in my ass. 

I wake to an awareness of him, not even a touch, but instead a flow of sensation as he looks down at me on the bed. It's enough to rouse me early enough to enjoy the floorshow as he removes his pants and underwear, his body magnificently built, lean and as fine as an alabaster statue, his dick standing proud and drooling wet in the second before the bed dips and he covers me with himself. I can't get enough of him. Spock's tongue in my mouth, his hands reverent yet grabby, almost a shade too strong, his cock as he pulls my hips into the circle of his, holding my knees up around my neck and beginning to push in. I gasp at him to go slow because it's been a long time, at least that I remember at this exact moment, and he growls down at me that 'It has been precisely forty nine days, three hours and approaching thirty seven minutes' as he continues to seat himself in me entirely. 

It's a quick fuck, desperate and needy as he starts slamming into me too hard too soon and I cry out, bouncing on the bed with the force of his thrusts, wrapping my ankles around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He's bigger than anything I've taken before, the burn transforming into a growing ache and it's not lovemaking, nothing like it, instead a deep, hasty screw between two people who needed this too much to dick around with anything approaching romance. He's pumping my cock in time with the slam of his hips against mine, and it's coming on so fast that I barely have time to grab his other hand from around my ankle to rub it clumsily against my face. 

"Come on, do it, fuck my head."

It makes his rhythm falter as he looks down at me with as much of an appalled look that I think a Vulcan's ever managed to muster. "Excuse me?"

"That can't possibly be the first time I've ever said that to you." I thrust back against him, grinding down and stretching myself on his cock as his fingers spread to caress the side of my face. "Meld with me. I know we've done it before. We must have."

"We have. I know your mind as well as I do my own." His fingers find points across my face, one by one, stretching a span as his eyes look deeply into mine and his dick skewers my gut ever deeper as I take more of his weight. I'm not even listening as he gives a low mutter, my body quivering with need and too much sensation, too much want. He starts to fuck me once more as he presses his way into my head, and I'm gone, filled with him to the point where I can't do or feel anything more than the thrust of his dick or the sensation of Spock flooding into every inch of my soul. It could be that I scream when I come, it could be that it's entirely silent, because I'm too attuned to him and the feel of him to know anything beyond total, agonizing, ecstatic joy that rips through me like a solar flare. I'm destroyed, crucified on Spock like nothing existed before him and can't possibly exist beyond. 

"We need to fix my memory."

He doesn't lift his head, his dick flexing deep inside my ass as I feel his lips move against my shoulder in something that can't possibly be a smile. "I believe Starfleet has some of its most creative scientific minds working on the issue, for reasons other than the recollection of our sexual history."

"Then we need to make new memories. Lots and lots of new memories." I lift his hand from where it's now lying slack against my cheek and lay it over the center of my chest. "Lots, and lots, and lots. I've got sixteen years of fucking to catch up on."

He lifts his head, looks down at me with a certain softness to his expression, and I wonder if he's already mentally composing some dirty little note to send me in receipt for a holiday weekend spent trying to catch up on a lifetime's lovemaking. "I am available to you in whatever manner best serves your needs."

"Whatever?"

He inclines his head once, 'Aye Admiral', and I fall in love all over again. Third time's a charm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set several years later. Warning for dark, nightmarish imagery involving non-sexy tentacles

_I can hear the voice. It seems so distant, muffled by the water but I hear it once more and it’s louder this time with more clarity._

'You are dreaming. You are experiencing a nightmare.'

_The pain's everywhere, my legs, my back and hips, tightening around my chest and my wrists now, and I struggle harder but the pain tightens ever more the harder I struggle against it. The voice calls out to me again and I try to turn my head towards it_

'Reach out towards my voice and wake.'

_I can't move my hands to reach out, I fight with all my remaining strength but they're held firm so I strain with every muscle in the voice's direction, water flooding my eyes, my ears, my throat_

Please, help me, I can't

_My voice is cut off as it pushes into my mouth, thick with cold and something wet, something horrible._

'I am here. I will not let you go.'

_I know that I trust the voice and remember it said that this is a dream, and I close my eyes, will myself out of my bound body, up and out and into the air_

 

 _Spock._ I open my eyes and hear him order the lights to ten percent and his face is inches from mine, his eyes dark with worry, his face impassive, his hands holding my wrists immobile. I'm shaking, gasping for breath, struggling against his grip and he notices, allowing his fingers to release me. My voice is hoarse with horror.

"It was back. It had me, it was back."

His hands slide up my back, drawing me close as the shakes turn into bone-deep shivers. "You are here with me, in our bed, in our home. The dream has passed."

I hunch into him closer, my chin at his jaw, pressing the tip of my nose into his ear and closing my eyes, feeling cold all over.

"God, what the, ugh. Uggh." A full shudder against him as the remaining fear begins to leech out of me and I wrap an arm around his waist to move closer still. "That was awful. Thanks for noticing and coming in to rescue me."

"It is unlikely that I would fail to notice, in that you struck me twice about the head and once passingly close to my genitalia in your somnambulic struggles. Your knee," he adds, as I take a nervous glance under the comforter.

"Yikes. Sorry." I lie against his shoulder, soaking up his strength, his stillness, trying to purge the last of the panic as my heartbeat begins to slow. Then a thought occurs to me and my pulse jumps up a notch once more. "Wait a goddamn minute: what the fuck am I doing dreaming about that squid again?"

"I am unsure." His mouth is soft against the meld point at my cheekbone, his fingers splayed over my hip, his thumb tracing circles there over and over. "Perhaps Doctor McCoy will be able to—"

"No. I'm not bugging Bones over one stupid nightmare."

"Yes, Jim. You are.”

“I don’t want to—”

“You will contact Doctor McCoy tomorrow morning at oh-seven-hundred hours and you will inform him of this episode."

His tone allows no argument and, like it always is when he gets all bossy on me, it's a total turn-on despite my lingering shakes. I find his lips with mine, muttering _’I'm still spooked. Distract me?’_ a second before I slide my tongue against his. His hand smooths across my body, over my stomach to circle my dick and I'm already fighting to keep quiet, gasping into his shoulder as his thumb draws out shivers of pleasure that run up and down my spine, into my nuts, my ass, even the balls of my feet, my toes curling. 

The soundproofing in this place may be excellent but we had Gray visit our room in the early hours a few years back when I got too loud, furiously demanding to know what Pops was doing to Daddy that was making Daddy scream. I was halfway through a flustered explanation about the special type of cuddle daddies have sometimes when Spock pulled out of me, launching into a mini lecture about how the known majority of mature mammalian beings practice sexual intercourse for pleasure or procreation. He went on to describe in some detail to a fascinated Gray how various species of interest around the galaxy mated. It put me off sex for almost a week. Now we have a lock on the door and I try to keep my mouth shut.

I'm not great at it. Especially when he does this, gliding down my body in a practiced manner to envelop my dick with his mouth, that rough tongue drawing out frantic whimpers and fractious clutches at his shoulders. I’m whining, needy and desperate because nothing should feel this good, nothing should be so perfect, an awareness of his desire for this and for me buzzing along my skin wherever he touches me. Spock hollows his cheeks and draws deep at me with an approving purr, one strong finger parting my buttcheeks to rub over my asshole as my hips buck up off the bed, helping me shoot long and hard down the back of his throat. It’s not like we’re even halfway done yet, Spock’s eyes focused and predatory as he rises to look down at me, licking his lips, his hands already guiding my hips to flip me over. I suppose even creepy squid nightmares can have their silver linings.

~*~

Multigrain oatmeal. It's pretty bland but Spock has an enduring hard-on for it, as does Bones, so I placate them both with half a bowlful every morning before I start thinking about anything involving something so frivolous as flavor. But Gray's poking at his with a spoon like it's a lab specimen and I sigh internally as it looks like it's going to be one of those mornings.

"C'mon Gray, eat your oatmeal. We need to get you to school early today for the field trip." I guess Pui-Shan's noticed Gray's attitude, too.

"It's icky. I don't want it." 

She tries again. "You need to eat your brain food. You've got a long day ahead with a lot of learning involved."

"I _said_ , I don't want it. I'm not even hungry." It's more than petulant, a thread of potent anger to it that's unsettling in the voice of a five year old boy. I open my mouth to try to defuse the situation but Spock jumps in and I know this isn't going to end well, because it never does.

"It has been fifteen point zero seven hours since your last nourishment. Given the energy-transfer needs of the likely metabolism that a child your age, stature and genetic profile possesses, it is improbable that you do not require sustenance at this time."

"I don't want it! It's yucky and gloopy and it tastes gross! I want pancakes like Dad."

All eyes at the table fall on me and I point at my bowl with my spoon.

"Don't everyone look at me like that. I'm eating my oatmeal first like a good boy. Gray, finish your breakfast."

His mouth compresses into a mutinous line, his cheeks striped with pink. "I want pancakes. Not stupid oatmeal. I hate oatmeal. Dad hates it, too."

I reach out, touch his wrist with a couple of fingertips allowing him to sense my love and my concern, but he shakes me off, retreating into himself further. "Gray, settle down. I don’t hate oatmeal. Let’s not make a big deal out of this. You can't have pancakes now, but you can choose something else that's nutritious like fruit salad and some toast if you honestly don't want your oatmeal."

Pui-Shan frowns and I get that I'm undermining her by giving him other options but I don't want to start yet another morning with Gray having a meltdown. Even considering all the years I’ve forgotten, I still know that picking your battles is the key to survival. It doesn't make any difference and he pushes his chair away from the table, his skinny body quivering with frustration.

"I want pancakes! With syrup! Bobby Quantock gets pancakes every morning if he wants them! You're all jerks. Hateful jerks!"

"Grayson Samuel Kirk, you know better than calling people names." I swear I channel my mom at the weirdest times. It's not good.

"Focus, Gray, you're getting too worked up, try to—" Pui-Shan's cut off as Gray suddenly moves, striking out like a cobra, inhumanly fast as he swipes the bowl from the table to smash against the far wall, splattering my elbow with globs of oatmeal, following it with his glass of juice that shatters against a framed family holofile.

"I hate oatmeal! I hate you guys, quit picking on me!" He's shaking, his eyes wild, mouth working furiously as his hands clench and unclench. "Leave me alone, I can't - I hate all of you! Leave me alone! You never leave me alone!"

The dining room door slides shut behind him as he storms out of the room, his feet thundering furiously up the stairs, probably on his way to go systematically destroy the contents of his room again. It leaves Pui-Shan and I looking at each other and Spock concentrating on a point in the center of the table, a barely noticeable crease between his eyebrows. I recognize that crease and know he's worried, feeling it flickering delicately through our bond although I know he's trying to suppress it. I get to my feet, wiping some of Gray's oatmeal off my elbow, looking down at the mess at my feet.

"I’m going after him."

"Sit tight, Admiral. You know the rules and Gray realizes that was inappropriate behavior. Let's see where he goes with it now."

I hear a small crash upstairs that sounds like Gray's nightstand bearing the brunt of his anger. Apparently he’s going freakin’ postal with it.

"You're the expert. Are we going to talk about this now, Spock?"

His eyes rise up from the table slowly, meeting mine, resignation shading them darker than ever. It's pouring off him, defeat and disappointment etched in every line of his body, much as he's managing to maintain a blank expression.

"I am uncertain that we have other viable alternatives left open to us. I had hoped that . . ." His voice trails off as there’s a dull thud, then another, a few more, what sounds like shoes or something hitting the walls of Gray's bedroom.

"I know." I move around the table to sit next to him, covering his hand with one of my own, his index finger wrapping intimately around mine in what's now an automatic reflex, which is something that makes Sarek's eyes practically bug out with disapproval every time Spock chills out enough to do it in front of him. "But it's time. It's not going away."

Pui-Shan looks at us expectantly, a PADD at the ready.

"You want to talk about this without me first? I can go through my notes in the den if you'd like. Or I can get Gray out of here early so you've got the house to yourselves."

"No, you're a part of this, too." I rub lightly at Spock's finger, trying to bolster him for what I know is a discussion he's been hoping to avoid. "It's okay. We tried. It's not working."

Spock was adamant all along that he would not have Gray deny his humanity or his emotions, but it looks like we can't ignore Gray's Vulcan side any longer as his moods are becoming wilder, more extreme. I'm beginning to worry he'll hurt himself, maybe even somebody else. He'll kick and scream until he vomits and turns purple, Spock calmly keeping Gray held firm in his arms, murmuring private words to soothe, patient as a snow-covered mountain waiting for Spring's thaw. But I can't help feeling that we're failing him, that simply preventing his short-term harm isn’t good enough. Spock gently disengages his hand from mine to give me back my privacy for the discussion ahead, lacing his fingers in front of him on the table, and there’s a pause before he begins speaking.

"I have given the matter some thought in recent weeks. I believe that Grayson may benefit from certain mind exercises, those outside of Surak’s teachings, that all Vulcan children practice as a matter of route from a young age. I do not wish to seek to suppress his emotional responses but it is apparent that a level of control has become necessary. I believe that directed meditation may provide Grayson with the structure that his mind is seeking. Furthermore, Grayson appears to benefit from prolonged contact with my own controls after we have completed a meld, and that his behavior is less destructive, his mood less extreme, for some time beyond."

"'Some time'? How long's that, precisely?"

He looks at me steadily, a hint of an eyebrow quirk, perfectly aware I'm yanking his chain.

"I have not conducted any empirical research or recorded any data. It is merely a casual observation."

Pui-Shan's nodding, scribbling notes on the PADD.

"Now you mention it, I guess his calmer periods do seem to have some level of correspondence with your monthly melds. Is it a good idea to have them more regularly? Vulcan familial melding isn't something I can pretend to have much knowledge in, other than what Gray's told me and that doesn't go much beyond 'Pops has a silver mind but Daddy's is blue'."

"Mine's blue? Freaky. Is my mind blue, Spock?" There's another crash from upstairs and we all look at the ceiling as one, the light strands swinging gently.

"More precisely, it is the color of your eyes taken to a deeper tonal pitch. I will suggest to Grayson that we increase the occurrence of our melds to that of a weekly basis, and will proceed with his assent."

"What about meditation?" I have a feeling I know the answer to this one already, and that I'm not going to like it anymore than Spock does. "Are you able to instruct him in that?"

I can feel it already, that I was right and it's something Spock's not happy about.

"It is inappropriate for a father to direct immature meditation due to the contiguous nature of the parent-child relationship. We will need to approach the embassy for assistance."

"And you're worried Sarek's going to stick his big honker in?"

Sarek's made it as clear as he's able to without breaching his air of Vulcan impenetrability that he's Not Happy about Spock spurning Surak's teachings in Gray's upbringing, and I guess allowing one of his staff to teach Gray how to meditate is the perfect opening for him to claw back a little of the influence we've denied him so far. It's gone quiet upstairs, perhaps a little more worrying than the sounds of Gray's tantrum, and I itch to get up there to comfort the little guy and check he’s okay.

"My father would not seek to covertly gain authority over Grayson's upbringing via mediative practices."

Whatever, he doesn't sound sure. I get that Spock doesn't like to badmouth his dad but he doesn't trust Sarek where Gray's concerned much more than I do. They don't like to let us alone with him. It was eventually agreed after much debate, not to mention tantrum throwing of my own, that Spock himself was strong enough to school Gray's telepathy through the melds they share. But he's expected to update the embassy on that, on his own son's progress in a report to one of his dad's assistants once a month. It's ludicrous and it pisses me off that he submits to it without question.

"So you'll discuss with Gray the possibility of more regular melds?" Pui-Shan's making a plan of action, one we'll all stick to, fearing her wrath.

"I will do so, this evening."

"And we'll make an appointment to go talk to Sarek. Yeah," as Spock's eyebrow scoots towards his bangs in my direction, "I'm coming, too. Unless you want to invite him to dinner and do it here. Either way, I'll make it clear he's not to dick around with Gray's head or try to get all Surak on his butt, because I know damn well you won’t say peep."

He inclines his head once, a mix of gratitude and tolerant exasperation warming the depths of my mind.

"I will make the appointment and confirm it with your office."

Pui-Shan and I don't even notice the door opening but I do notice Spock's head swivel in its direction as Gray sneaks around the door frame, his head hanging as he looks at his feet and runs in my direction to throw himself in my lap, his face pressed into my stomach. His voice is hushed, his words running together as he stutters them out as fast as he can, his skinny little body wracked with shivers as I wrap my arms around him and allow him to cling to me.

"I'm sorry I shouted and called you jerks and got my oatmeal on you and broke my juice and stuff in my room. I didn't mean to."

"I know. I’m glad you said you're sorry without being prompted. Did you get hurt?" He shakes his head against my stomach, his arms tightening further, so strong for such a scrawny little thing, every scrap of baby fat long gone. "Okay. We're going to try to help you with your temper. We know it's tough."

His voice is muffled by my sweater and I look across the table at Spock in shock when Gray sobs frantically into my stomach. "I don't mean to be bad. Please don't go away again. I don't want you to go away and not know me anymore."

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"I can feel that it's back, I don't want it to take you away." Gray pulls away to look at me, his huge brown eyes too serious for a kid his age, red with crying, his eyelids puffy and swollen. I stroke through his hair, dark blond like mine with the fine satin texture of Spock's, falling heavily across his upswept brows. "Please don't forget about me. I'll be good, I promise."

"Admiral . . . ?"

Pui-Shan's reached out to pat Gray's shoulders, looking at me in silent question. I shrug helplessly.

"I had a nightmare about the squid incident. First time in years, I guess Gray must've absorbed my remaining jitters when I kissed him this morning. But he can't possibly remember what it was like it happened, he was a baby -"

"Vulcan brains mature at a significantly faster rate in terms of memory than Humans, possibly some sort of survival mechanism in a species that evolved in a famine-prone environment, allowing infants some level of autonomy as they're able to remember key behaviors of the adults around them at an earlier age. I accessed some comparative studies when I first came to work for you guys, as we weren't sure how Gray was likely to develop so I needed some kind of reference point."

"Pui-Shan is correct: it is entirely possible that Grayson remembers the occurrence of your memory loss."

The hurried nodding into my stomach confirms it and my heart sinks.

"Oh, kiddo, I'm sorry. I don't think the nightmare means I'm going to forget about you again but it wouldn't be because you lost your temper if I did. I love you if you're happy or grumpy or anything in between, and nothing that you do is going to make me forget you. Got it?" Another nod accompanied by a lopsided, wobbly smile. "Good. Do you want to say sorry to Pops?"

Spock's eyes meet mine across Gray's head as he presses his mouth and nose into Gray's hair, Gray clinging to his neck stuttering out apologies and promises of future good behavior. We're both wondering, I guess, what Gray saw in my mind this morning. He says he doesn't remember when we ask him later once he’s back home. I don't like to think my kid would lie to me, but he remembers something because I can see the idea of it hot in his eyes every time he looks my way, his brows drawn together in worry and suspicion.

~*~

Being an admiral is dull. Even though I got reinstated as Chief of Ops a couple of years back, it's still meetings, conferences, meetings about conferences and meetings about meetings, with a very occasional diplomatic mission or vessel launch to look forward to. Even the staff chiefs meetings are dull as fuck, as the others are all more than a little po-faced and refuse to get my jokes. I mean, I'm used to po-faced and humorless, just look at my father-in-law, but the urge to get up and moon the room as Edwards bores on for hours about Intelligence's latest findings about Klingon activity in the outer rings of some minor system that nobody ever heard of, and I slide my eyes towards Luca's PADD for the fiftieth time to check on the chrono. We're going to run over and I'm going to be late to meet Bones, who will feel honor bound to bitch about it for at least twenty minutes once I finally get to the medical HQ to meet up with him.

Luca's PADD gives the low beep of a received message and he places a hand on my shoulder, leaning forward to murmur discreetly close to my ear that Captain Spock is waiting outside to escort me to Medical. I hiss back, sotto voce, _'Tell him we're not finished yet'_ , Luca's fingers swiftly inputting the message, only to receive one back after a minute. I'm positive even the message beep manages to sound peeved. Edwards glares across the table at me and I feel a warm wave of satisfaction plus the urge to flip him off as I turn to Luca.

"Don't tell me: the Captain would like to remind Admiral Kirk that the meeting at Starfleet  
Medical is scheduled to commence at eleven hundred hours precisely."

"Yessir."

"Gimme."

I remind Spock that the Staff Chiefs' monthly meet shouldn't have to wait on me having one nightmare, and ask him if he doesn't have some students to go torture. I get one line back in reply, _'My husband: I am waiting.'_ It’s not fair that he knows exactly what'll work on me when I’m still missing a bunch of years that’d help me do the same with him. It's that tone, that Spock tone, the one that makes me want to simply drop pants to my ankles and bend over. I make him wait a further five minutes because he deserves it but I don't hear a single word Edwards says from that minute onwards because I’m entirely lost in daydreams of naked Spock and what I'm going to do to him later in retaliation.

"What sort of time do you call this? You think I don't have better things to do than jet halfway across a damn continent to wait on wiping your ass for you?"

"Last I heard, you were trying to perfect tying a deer hair muddler." Bones snorts, tugging me in through the door into an awkward one-armed hug.

"Like I said, better things to do." The beard's bigger, bushier, like a small bear's attacking his face. He nods at Spock. "Captain. Nice to see you're looking just as cheery as ever."

"Doctor."

He denies it but I'm sure Spock's only so taciturn with Bones because he knows it'll annoy the piss out of him. Bones brings up my notes at the work station in the office that always seems to be his no matter how long between his visits to San Francisco. He frowns at them and then at me.

"So. Another nightmare. After all this time, any reason for it? Unreasonable amounts of stress, anything that may have served as a reminder, some sort of prompt, for example?"

"Nothing we can think of. Same problems with Gray's moods but that's hardly a recent development."

“Work?”

“Klingons. Y’know, the usual.”

He's scanning me, nodding, only half-listening as always before he dives in with his fingers, having a good up-close look at my eyes and face.

"You're not looking too bad. Weight's better, fitness is good, all major systems check out. Eyesight's a little crappy . . . Overall, you're doing better than many men half your age. Let's have a poke around that brain of yours . . ."

The scanner whirrs an inch from my earlobe, the back of my neck growing warm. Then Bones purses his lips and huffs under his breath, which is never good.

"There's a degradation in your memory centers. Slight, but it’s there. Could be age-related but that's unlikely given your genetic profile. We're going to have to use that new-fangled Brainometer whosits on you."

"Sounds painful. Do I want to know?"

"I believe the Doctor's referring to the Neurocortical Monitoring System."

Bones glares at Spock, who gazes back at him implacably.

"Brainometer, NMS, it's all the same. It's a new technology and the size of a goddamn room but should give us more information than your hyperencephalogram's able to. Dammit, I hate poking around in people's heads. Especially yours. I'll have to set up an appointment to make sure all the correct techs are in place as it's still largely experimental, so stay Earth-side for the next week or so. And you," a finger jabbed at Spock, "can keep your hands out of his pants, too, neurologically speaking."

He can't possibly mean— "Wait a second now, Bones, let's not be hasty."

Bones silences me with an eyebrow and a meaningful squint. "I mean it. No head nookie. You can fly blind for a while like the rest of us have to."

No sex melds? It's not like we do it every time, but that sucks. They had better be able to fix this.

~*~

Talk about shitty timing. I'm giving my patented congratulatory speech to this year's new captains, encouraging them to get the right people around them and trust those people to know their jobs as much as they should trust themselves, to trust their guts, to get out there and make a difference. It's making me feel a little melancholy as it always does, all these fresh faces, some not that far off my own age but some ridiculously pink-faced children who can't possibly be as old as I was when I took on the _Enterprise_.

Of course, I know better, knowing that I still hold the record even though a few wunderkind come closer every year. Not just because I’m awesome. Things were different back then. They all laugh dutifully at the same old jokes and one of them raises a glass in toast to me and I look around at them all and smile and raise my own glass and -

I can't remember how I got here or what I'm doing. It's like someone transported me into a roomful of strangers mid-conversation. Everyone's looking at me, glasses raised like I'm supposed to be saying something but the last thing I can remember is Spock's voice in my head, a dream, this morning? I think, I don't know. I suppress rising panic, make an excuse about a non-existent back spasm and sit down, managing to catch Luca's eye, bringing him over in a rush.

"Admiral?"

"We’ve got a problem."

He looks puzzled, eyes flitting around the room quickly to see if he can visually identify it. 

“Problem? Is there anything I can—"

"I don't know what I'm doing here." I can tell from his frown that he's about to explain so I shake my head, wave away any words of his. "I mean, I'm not even sure what day it is. I don't recall coming here. I think there's an issue with my memory."

"Again? No problem, sir." His eyes say different, a hand on my shoulder in concern. "I'll get you home."

"Wait. What do you mean, ‘again’?" It feels like I'm adrift, unsure where or what I can grab hold of.

"This is the second problem with your memory failing this week, sir. Doctor McCoy was clear that you should get home and contact him should the situation worsen. Captain Spock also had several thoughts on the matter."

"I’m sure he did. Give me a second.” I get to my feet and the discreet murmur of the room falls silent once more as I hold up my glass. “To new horizons,” and I drink, knowing that toast will pretty much work for any fleet occasion. It seems to in this case, everyone repeating it and smiling to each other as they drink. I exit the room as soon as I’m able to do so, shaking hands as I go, Luca at my heels, already speaking to Bones.

“Let’s have a look.” Bones’ eyes are softened with worry once I get to his office, his hands steady as he holds the scanner an inch from my earlobe, the back of my neck growing warm. Then Bones purses his lips, which is never good. “What’s your last memory? Before the toast, not since.”

“Waking up after a nightmare and having mind-blowing sex with Spock as compensation. Then falling into a sex coma and sleeping like the dead because he made me come three times.”

“Know what? That isn’t going to work anymore.”

“What isn’t?” I give him my best innocent look, which has never been that effective, especially not with Bones.

“You, distracting me from your health by filling my head with the vile and, no doubt, disgustingly accurate details of your sex life. What you fail to realize, Admiral, is that over twenty years’ practice has allowed me to develop my very own internal censorship apparatus.” He flicks off the scanner and starts glaring at his tricorder. “Every time you say any word relating to sex in the context of Spock, I mentally replace it with ‘aardvark’. So I’m glad to hear you had mind-blowing aardvark with Spock and that you fell into an aardvark coma because he made you aardvark three times, but I’m more worried about the memory centers of your brain, which appear to be ready to dribble out your ears right about now.”

“Oh, shit.”

“No kidding. This is the third time I’ve scanned you this week and your memory engrams have shown significant degradation each time, as if you’re aging thirty years every couple of days. They’re still there, just entirely disordered. Corrupted information. But the rest of your physiology’s aging perfectly. A little slowly, if anything.” He drops the tricorder onto the biobed with a sigh. “I can’t dig deep enough here. You’re booked in for a deep neurological scan in two days and, if that brainometer’s anything like as effective as they say it is, we’ll find out what’s going on.”

“‘Brainometer’?” Sounds painful. “Do I want to know?”

“The NMS, or Neurocortical Monitoring System. It should tell us more about your brain than I’d personally choose to know. It maps every detail. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Sure.” I get up from the biobed and slap his arm. “I know you will. I’m not worried.”

“Don’t give me that misguidedly macho crap. Any kind of dementia’s terrifying.”

“Dementia? Are you serious?” I sit back down, chastened. “I didn’t think that happened until someone’s three times my age.”

“Generally speaking, it doesn’t. Lie down.” He picks the scanner up once more and begins altering its settings. “Might as well give you another full physical while I’m talking you through the possibles.”

We’re interrupted by a knock and a distressed intern coming into the room closely followed by an extremely pissy-looking Spock. Pissy-looking for a Vulcan, as the most they can usually achieve is a vague look of constipation, but Spock’s talented in that respect and right now it looks like he’s trying to make the intern disappear from out his way with the power of his eyes alone.

“I’m so sorry, Admiral Kirk, Doctor McCoy, but the Captain insisted -” She falls silent when treated to another of Spock’s more withering glares.

“Starfleet Protocol, specifically Starfleet General Order and Regulations, book thirty five, section five hundred and twenty eight, paragraph three, states that the parent, guardian, sibling, spouse, or possessor of any other Federation-recognized familial relationship to the patient, has the legal right to request salient information to the said-patient’s medical status in a timely manner.” Spock flicks his eyebrow up at Bones as if daring him to challenge it. “I have decided to do make such a request in person. I do not believe the regulation prohibits me from doing so.”

“Don’t sweat it, Jeannie. And you,” Bones jabs a finger into an unflinching Spock’s chest, “are going to send her a box of something gooey in apology after we’re done here. Big bully.”

I love how Bones habitually disregards his own tendency to harass interns because he’s seen the chance to score one over Spock. But Spock’s practically ignoring him, giving a terse _’Indeed’_ in reply as he crosses the room to the biobed, coming to rest in front of me, his hands clasped calmly in front of him until I touch my fingers to his, winding my own into his and feel a little of the concern he’s busy controlling the fuck out of right now filtering through to me.

“It’s okay, Spock. I’ll be fine. Bones is planning to stick me in this big brain machine.”

“Yes, the Neurocortical Monitoring System.” He exchanging glances with Bones but then he looks back to me, his eyes softening, his voice grave. “You have an appointment scheduled in two days, Jim. This is our third meeting with Doctor McCoy in the past week.”

I don’t remember that at all. I knew I must’ve seen Bones once recently because he knows about the nightmare, but that’s it, there’s nothing else. I get the same stab of fear through my chest as I got soon as Bones said the word Dementia, and Spock’s fingers tighten on my own, a thread of love filtering through my head as he sends comfort and sweetness down our bond towards me. Bones clears his throat and turns away from us, giving a semblance of privacy as Spock strokes my cheek with one finger.

“We will overcome this.”

Then he tilts up my chin with one finger and kisses me while Bones studiously busies himself with his tricorder. Spock’s right: there’s no point trying to be brave. He can feel all over me that I’m scared out of my mind.

~*~

_I’m floating in space, the haze of a red nebula just visible below my right foot. I don’t think I’ve been out here before. Then I see it, and even though I know I must be dreaming because I’m floating in space without a suit and haven’t died yet, I’m aware in the dream that this is the first time I’ve ever seen it. Or part of it. It’s dark gray, mottled and almost as dark as the black skies beyond, but the underside is pale, muscular and gleaming wet with thick mucus as it wraps itself around my foot. The tip of it is seeking something out, feeling its way as the rest of the tentacle coils around my leg. It’s thicker than my waist now, stronger than anything I’ve ever known and I open my mouth and start screaming as it starts to hurt, the pain worse than anything as it burns and bites me like acid but I scream and scream and nothing comes out_

‘Jim, I am here with you. Take my hand.’

_Fingers wrap around my wrist, firm and true, and I feel a strong body at my back as more fingers stroke over the skin of my face, anchoring themselves in a span and I cry out because the thing fights back, taking my other leg, the pain traveling up over my hips to wrap around my back so tight I fear it’s going to snap me in two. But the fingers finally settle into place, a whisper at my ear_

‘My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.’

_and I remember that I’m dying, something wrapping around my neck in a blazing, agonizing noose and tightening until I start to wait for the sound my neck will make as it breaks but the fingers on my wrist also tighten_

‘I will not let you go. I will not permit it to take you from me.’

_It feels like the fingers push into my face, piercing my skin and into my skull, dissolving into silver light that fills me up until it starts to glow out of me, every atom in my body buzzing until the grip of the thing starts to loosen and I open my eyes_

I choke back a sob, belaying Spock’s lights-up command and wrapping myself around him tighter than a goddamn tentacle, burying my face in his neck as he strokes my back and rubs his jaw against my hair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings as for previous chapter

Spock’s hand cups my elbow, urging me forward even though we’re only going to be a few minutes late.  
  
“You first agreed to this test nine days ago. You have done so twice since.”  
  
“I did?”  
  
“You did.”  
  
“Is that so?” I’m teasing, although I actually can’t remember it. But we’ve already been through it twice this morning.  
  
“It is.”  
  
“You realize that you could make up all kinds of shit right now and tell me I’ve agreed to it.”  
  
He nods briskly, pulling me along effortlessly with him as if he’s got me caught in some kind of personal tractor beam.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Thought as much. God, I hate tests. You do realize Bones is basically experimenting on me with this?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“They’re not going to find anything. We know what this is. Screw it, I’m going home.”  
  
“No. You are not.”  
  
Seriously, it’s like I’m caught in the current of river rapids and I get the feeling he’ll throw me over his shoulder and drag me bodily in there if I try to back out. The idea’s more than a little hot, and Spock gives me out the corner of his eye what is, for him, a totally incredulous look when I start getting turned on.  
  
“Oh, like you don’t know you’re smokin’ when you’re like this.”  
  
It almost makes him not-smile, but he’s in a determined mood and marches us both through the doors into a room full of humming and blinking monitoring systems, all based around what looks like an adapted biobed in the center. It’s the biggest single piece of technology that I’ve seen outside of an engine room, Bones already in there with his hands on his hips bitching at some poor tech who is no doubt wishing he’d taken a personal day today. Then Bones notices Spock and I coming through the door, and the gruff sarcasm layered through his voice doesn’t bode well for today’s bedside manner.  
  
“Glad to see you eventually found time for us on your busy schedule today, Admiral. Too busy polishing your medals?”  
  
“Not at all, I have a person do that for me these days. Sorry I’m late. It was just another federal meeting trying to persuade them to cut Medical’s resource stream and give it to me so I can commission more stuff to blow things up.”  
  
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” He thrusts a gown at me. “Go put this on. And I already told Spock that I  
don’t want him here. There’s no telling how your bond might effect these tests.”  
  
“An argument of which I have yet to be convinced, Doctor.” I can already tell there’s no way Bones is going to win this round. Sometimes there’s no shifting an obstinate Vulcan and Spock can out-Pighead the best of them when he wants to. “The existence of my bond with the Admiral is not, as you are aware, dependent on our proximity.”  
  
“How about this? I don’t want you here getting under my feet all damn day! How’s about that for an argument?” I leave them to bicker about it while I go change, hearing Bones continue to waste his breath as far as Spock’s concerned. “I know what you’re like. You’ll want to know  
what every last doohickey’s purpose is.”  
  
“On the contrary, Doctor: I have already familiarized myself with the Neurological Monitoring  
System’s primary workings.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised?”  
  
It takes three techs to fit the NMS unit itself around my head while I lay there on the biobed trying not to fidget too much. It’s a smooth cylinder with no provision for the subject to see out, trapping me with only the darkness and the sound of my own breathing for company. It’s okay, I’ve never much mind the dark, especially these days. I’m never alone, Spock’s touch reassuringly at the back of my mind as it always is, warming me. Although Bones’ bitching at him must’ve had some effect as Spock’s suppressing the link between us a little, dampening its effect for the tests ahead, I guess. I concentrate on it to give me something to do while the techs tug and fasten the unit into place, mentally tracing the shape of our bond like a caress, the same way I sometimes run a finger over the short hairs at Spock’s nape. There’s an instant swell of warmth and affection, a touch of admonishment that I translate as a mental _‘keep your paws to yourself till the test’s over, Admiral Handsypants’_ , then he withdraws once more.  
  
It’s bizarre, lying like this with my head and neck so completely immobile. I feel like I’m waiting for something bad to happen, the guillotine to drop, unable to hear now much of what’s going on outside the NMS. There’s a few small movements as a tech adjusts something but otherwise I’m in silence, concentrating on my breathing, the beating of my heart. I think about the kids, about Gray this morning clinging to my wrists with both hands then looking up at me as if he was trying to memorize everything he found in my head. I think about Lejiba, concern coloring her exasperated tone when I commed her on Nova Mundus for the third time that week without realizing I’d already spoken with her. And I think back to the squid, three and a half years ago now, and about how nobody’s mentioned it yet. I guess none of us want to admit that’s probably the cause of my memory loss this time, too, as we were able to do precisely dick about it last time.  
  
There’s the hushed hum of an open comm link then Bones’ voice floods my ears.  
  
“Okay, Admiral, we’re about ready to start. Do you have your focus point ready?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
I can barely talk, my jaw bound tight in the mask of the NMS, my fingers already smoothing over the apple’s skin, concentrating on its shape and size, learning its weight. Bones explained I had to bring an object with me that was familiar but one which didn’t hold any particular meaning or connotation personal to me. I guess most people would choose something from work, but that won’t cut it for me. My communicator, for example, a link to Spock hundreds of times that even I can remember, in danger on a hundred routine missions where I’m left clutching my communicator, trying to act like a captain should when instead I just want to shout down the line that I’m sorry I’ll never see him again and that I’m stupid to never have told him how much I like him and how he’s so hot he makes my eyes bleed.  
  
Or a PADD, something I handle fifty times a day, something mundane and everyday but also the very thing on which I read my occasional notes from Spock and feel like the most undeservedly lucky guy in the mapped universe. My insignia, my link to Fleet and the reason I ever met him in the first place. One of Gray’s old baby shoes propping up a family holo. An ugly paperweight Lejiba made me that I don’t even remember her giving to me in the first place, but it still takes pride of place in my office on my desk. Everything in my life has Spock or the kids written all over it, it’d be pitiful if I didn’t like it that way so much. I was busy rummaging in my den at home for ideas this morning, running out of time and loudly cursing up a storm, when Spock walked in and wordlessly handed me an apple before walking back out again. I almost had a bite out of it before I figured out what it was supposed to be for.  
  
“We’re going to start. There will be some noise but ignore it and concentrate on the, what is that? An apple? Think only of the apple.”  
  
“Sure. The apple.”  
  
It’s not as easy as I thought. I’m not hungry so I don’t waste any time thinking about how the apple would taste, instead concentrating on the small imperfections in its skin and the way it’s already warmed in my hand. The NMS has begun to whirr, a wet vibrating, sloshing sound that’s almost soothing. Crap, I’m paying conscious attention to the noises. I wrench my focus back to the apple, fingering its stub of stalk with my thumb before passing it from hand to hand, trying not to move my torso too much. Hope this isn’t going to take much longer, there’s only so much items of interest I’m able to discover on an apple. I squeeze it gently, noting its density, digging the nails of my forefinger and middle finger in until I can feel the skin give. The noises are getting louder, a rising clanging sound that is more than a little alarming in such close proximity to your brain but I apple-zen through it, memorizing this particular apple’s precise shape, wondering how it would smell and remembering how the skin’s green mottled through with a rusty orange.  
  
I’m sweating, I can feel it dripping down from my forehead and temples, feel it rising through my hair and wetting my upper lip. I breathe, and breathe, and forget about the apple altogether once the clanging and whirring rises to painfully loud levels that make me wince, screwing my eyes tighter closed and starting to repeat _‘apple apple apple apple apple’_ mentally to myself in the hope I can hold out long enough. God knows I’m not going through all this again if it doesn’t work first time. _Apple apple apple apple_. Can’t be much longer now. I hope.  
  
Just as I’m about to start trying to tear the fucking thing off my head with my fingers alone before I go deaf, go crazy, drown in my own sweat or a combination of all three, the noises start to fade out and slow down, Bones’ voice coming on over the comm again.  
  
“All done. Stay put while we get you out. What did I tell you, piece of cake.”  
  
I’m muttering about other things I could do to Bones that might also be a piece of cake, preferably involving this apple and its possible insertion, when they finally loosen the NMS enough for me to push the rest of the way out of it. One of the tech notices the look in my eyes and physically blanches, clearing his throat.  
  
“You’re, uh, okay there, Admiral?”  
  
“No. I’m not.” I toss the apple at him and he drops his micro-wrench to fumble at the apple twice, managing to catch it at his chest on his third attempt. “You might want to recommend ear plugs to your next guinea pig. And possibly a tranquilizer.”  
  
“‘Guinea pig’, sir?”  
  
“An archaic reference, Ensign. Try picking up a book every now or then. Expand your mind, it’s the only one you get. Usually.”  
  
“A book, sir?”  
  
I glare at him and he trips over his feet in his hurry to get out my way as I march off to change and in search of someone to demote.

  
~*~ 

  
I’m married to Spock. It’s still blowing my mind. I’m an admiral, and married to Spock. How weird is that? I’m used to weird stuff, I’ve worked in Outer Space, but this whole thing has been a trip and a half. I come downstairs after my shower and notice music coming from the living area through the archway. His harp, wow, it sounds pretty. I follow the sound through, my socked feet silent on the wooden floor. But it’s not Spock who is playing, it’s a blond-haired kid, shaggy head bent forward in concentration as his stubby fingers work over the strings. Spock is standing to one side, hands tucked into the small of his back, a slight frown in place as he listens to the music and softly corrects the child over an incorrect phrasing, nodding at me with a warmth to his eyes as he does so.  
  
He’s so handsome. I can’t get over how different I look like this, so much older, lines creasing my skin, a permanent tired look that I can’t seem to erase no matter how much sleep I get, when he looks so much the same as he always did, so flawlessly perfect, so beautiful that my mouth goes dry when I look at him. It’s like my hands literally itch to learn every plane of his face, the texture of his skin, the taste of him. So exquisite, so completely sublime, and he fell in love with me. _Age cannot wither him_. . .  
  
The kid hits another wrong note and I wince internally but Spock leans down to correct the fingering with that endless patience. The kid looks up at him in gratitude and then over to me, a grin breaking out.  
  
“See, Dad? I nearly had it that time!”  
  
I almost curse, biting it back just in time.  
  
 _“Gray?”_  
  
I wouldn’t have even recognized him if I hadn’t noticed his eyebrows where his bangs are parted or he hadn’t called me that. Gray’s supposed to be fourteen months old, like he was when I met him yesterday. That did happen. Right? I don’t understand and start to panic, rubbing at my forehead waiting for the fuzzy warm feeling to return, and Spock’s frowning at me in concern, beginning to cross the floor towards me.  
  
“Your memory has failed you once more.”  
  
There’s a crash, the harp banging to the floor as the kid throws it down and runs out the room, knocking into my legs as he goes. Spock’s eyes follow him and I’ve never seen Spock like this before, so obviously torn, unsure of what to do next. I jerk my head in the kid’s direction.  
  
“Go after him. I can wait.”

  
~*~ 

  _It’s getting tougher each time. I’m hanging over a rock face now, an infinite drop beneath me as the tentacles wind their way around me and make me scream until my throat’s raw and nothing comes out any more, but the voice finds me, the fingers wrapping around my wrist and spanning my face and pushing inside me, into my skin and into my body and into my mind, and filling me with silver light but I can feel it, that the voice has to fight the thing harder each time to force it to give me up_

  
Let me go. Let it have me. Let this end.  
  
 _I don’t know if I’m heard, pain arcing throughout every nerve of my body, jolting me until it feels like I’m going to come apart, and I’m weeping, tears pouring down my face but I don’t want the thing to hurt that beautiful voice_  
  
‘I will not let you go. Reach out to me.’  
  
 _I can feel my skin begin to tear. I can feel my shoulders leaving their sockets as I’m pulled in opposite directions. I can feel my pelvis begin to buckle under the pressure. I can feel a rib pop out of place, piercing something deep inside. I can feel blood dripping from my fingers and toes. I can feel it in my mouth, warm and thick and metallic_  
  
‘Listen to my voice. I am here. I will not allow it to take you.’  
  
 _The silver light grows so strong that it burns away my skin from the inside out until I’m just a skeletal frame surrounded by light and, as the light builds and builds, my atoms breaking apart, it feels like I’m coming as I explode into a million pieces and tear the thing apart_  
  


~*~ 

“It’s the squid again. I’d hoped it’d be something more straightforward and I didn’t want to have to be the one say this to you, but it’s the squid. I’m sorry.”

  
“Perhaps a predictable outcome, Doctor. Did the Neurocortical Monitoring System identify the mechanism with which the Ibahnian cephalopod is able to extract memory engrams?”  
  
“It’s not extracting engrams remotely, if that’s what you’re getting at. The problem is this, here. It’s a neurotoxin that disguises itself as a simple protein chain. It lays dormant for awhile before reactivating and mutating. Best I’m able to hypothesize is that it’s meant to confuse the sufferer and make them more likely to retrace steps, trying to relive the past in a misguided attempt to regain their memory, and in doing so, put itself within the scope of the squid once more for a second, and final, feeding. It’s also turning his memory into a pre-made mush for easy eats when it can next get its suckers into him.”  
  
I don’t know why I’m here, listening to this old beardy guy and this Vulcan talk in the freakiest riddles about some guy I don’t even know. Every time I get up to leave, the beardy one gives me the hairy eyeball and tells me to sit my ass back down again. I sigh again, hoping they’ll get the message but I’m ignored so I swing my boots up onto the desk, which gets their attention.  
  
“Hey. Old guys. Can someone please explain what I’m doing here? Where is here? Am I charged with anything? Because I know my rights as a Federation citizen and you can’t hold me indefinitely without telling me what’s going on or charging me with a specific.”  
  
Beardy glares at me while the Vulcan looks at me as if he only just noticed I’m here. I grin back, a little flirty, inching my thigh closer to his. He’s older than me but totally hot and I’ve heard stuff, rumors about Vulcan sexuality that I’d like to try out in person, especially with a Vulcan that looks like this. I lick my lips then smile harder when I notice him watching me do it, his body as still as a statue, his eyes focused on my mouth. Oh, yeah. Pointy Ears wants me. I pull my feet from the desk and hunch down in my chair again, spreading my legs wider, my hand trailing idly up my inner thigh as the Vulcan’s dark eyes follow the movement all the way up to -  
  
“Oh, for crying out loud. Subtle as ever, Jim.”  
  
Beardy’s pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily so I pull my hand away and look over at him.  
  
“What? I didn’t do anything. You don’t know me.”  
  
“If you’ve both finished acting like my office is some space dock dive bar . . .”  
  
“Doctor, I can assure you—”  
  
“Dammit, Spock, you’re married to him, you two can play footsie under my desk for as long as you want once we're done but let’s at least try to stay on topic for five minutes.”  
  
 _Married?_ What the— I get up from my chair and start slowly backing towards the door.  
  
“Okay, if this is some weirdo kinky set-up whatever, thing is, I have to tell you that specific part of my reputation is somewhat overstated and, y’know, I’m okay giving Ears a go because, damn, dude, you’re hot like Rigel, but I think Beardy’s a little old for me and I’m not so much into the whole threesome thing if there’re zero chicks involved. No offense.”  
  
“Believe me, none taken. Now, sit your ass down and let the grown ups talk.”  
  
Beardy throws the PADD down, the Vulcan picking it up and scrolling through the data, his lips pursed slightly, the bottom one pouty and full. I want to bite it. He’s so goddamn hot in profile. Looking at his mouth is making me hard.  
  
“So, any ideas, Spock? I’m synthesizing something that should slow down the toxin’s effects but, even with the current rate of decay slowed by as much as eighty percent, I don’t think we’ve got more than a week before his memory’s wiped. Ten days, max. Did you get anywhere with Fleet?”  
  
The Vulcan shakes his head slowly, still scrolling through the PADD’s information.  
  
“Perhaps Starfleet Command will be more co-operative now that we have evidence that the solution to Jim’s dilemma may lie on Ibahn. I was unable to reassure them sufficiently without corroborating data. I have also approached my father, who is making enquiries with the Vulcan High Council. Jim is a Vulcan citizen and they hold duty for his well-being.”  
  
“I’m a _what?_ ” I jump up, making for the door in earnest this time. “That’s it: you guys are crazy and I’m out of here. I’m not Vulcan. I’m from Iowa.”  
  
Pointy Ears follows me, his uniform unfamiliar, his body all tight and toned underneath it. “Please, return to your seat. We will explain your situation.”  
  
“I gave you guys more than enough chances to explain yourselves. This is giving me the creeps.”  
  
“No.” His hand wraps around my wrist. I try to pull it away, looking down in surprise when he holds on easily, his fingers like a band of flexi-steel and just as unlikely to let me go. “Sit down. It is unsafe for you to wander unsupervised, given your current condition.”  
  
“Let me go.”  
  
“I will not.”  
  
“I said, let me go!”  
  
I’m struggling now, pushing against him with the ball of my other hand but he holds firm and I’m barely able to rock him on his feet as I push with all my weight. I bring my hand up under his chin and duck to heft my shoulder into his torso, hoping to at least lift him off his feet long enough to push him to the floor so I can make it out the room and run for it. But he gracefully takes my hand with his other, forcing both of mine down as he twists out of my way like a gymnast or something. A ninja Vulcan, great, just what I need. I try one last desperate attempt to get him off me, crouching to swing my leg around hoping to take his knees out, but he grabs at my shoulder and the last words I hear are _‘My apologies, T'hy'la’_ before everything goes black.

~*~ 

  _I’m running barefoot through a dusty field back home. It feels like I’m running so fast I could jump and take off, soaring up into the sky. The sun’s low and too bright and I squint into it, putting a hand up to blot it out as I slow to a halt to take a breather. My feet sink into the soil ankle deep. Crap. I must’ve come past the quarry without realizing and stumbled into some un-signposted quicksand. I pull up, arms high, ready to throw myself forward if I need to, having pulled myself out from deeper than this once before. But I look around me and there’s nothing but water all around me now, and I’m sinking deeper, all the way to my knees. I try to fall forward so I’ll be able to swim but I’m held firm by something around my legs, gripping me hard, so hard it starts to hurt. I’m sinking faster all the time and I try to cry out for help but something wet wraps around my face and I can’t make a noise, I can’t close my mouth or shout or breathe. The water’s up by my shoulders now and it’s dragging me down and I’m going to drown_

  
‘Jim.’  
  
I don’t think I can fight it anymore.  
  
‘You must. Reach out to me.’  
  
I can’t. I’m too tired.  
  
‘You can and you will. Feel me. I am here with you.’  
  
 _Arms wrap around me from behind, crossing in front of my chest like an embrace. I lean back against the body as much as I can, feeling its lean strength, remembering that I’m happy when I'm in these arms. That I’m safe here. But it’s different this time, as slim feelers squirm into my ears, my nose, my throat, pushing up through my soft palate and tissues into my brain, deep into my mind. It knows. It’s figured out this is where I escape, here, in my head, that this is where the voice reaches me and rescues me. I feel the arms around me weaken and begin to slip away_  
  
‘Jim. You must fight. The neurotoxin is attempting to block our meld. You must reach out to me. Concentrate on my voice and on the touch of my skin to yours.’  
  
 _His skin is smooth, warm where the water is cold. His voice is a song that I think I’ve heard all my life, a long-forgotten melody that suddenly evokes such longing, such overwhelming recognition that my eyes fill with unbidden tears. He is a part of me and nothing can separate us. The feelers fall away, my body freed, the water turning into rushing air like I’m falling from a great height_  
  
I open my eyes and he’s here in front of me, his hand falling from my face where he’s leaning over me in the bed, and I don’t even know who he is. I don’t say a word, too paralyzed with remaining horror, but he knows somehow and answers me.  
  
“I am he who loves you. Go back to sleep, Jim. I am in the next room if you require any further assistance.”  
  


~*~ 

The kid’s five, six at most, looking at me with big brown eyes while he clings to the waist of the Vulcan. I wink at him and his eyes widen further, then he gives me a shy smile and tries to wink back, wrinkling his nose and blinking both eyes. He must be the Vulcan’s kid, but there's something human about him from the look of his freckles. He tugs at the Vulcan’s sleeve, who inclines his head towards the kid, listening as the kid cups his mouth with one hand for privacy and whispers something at the Vulcan. The Vulcan looks over to me, then back to the kid, muttering something that makes the kid smile and start edging his way around the room towards me.

  
I have no clue what the hell’s going on. If these guys are kidnappers, they’re being pretty nice about it. I woke up in a decent room on an unknown ship, small, regular crew quarters I’m guessing. I’d only been awake a few minutes, trying to figure out what’s wrong and why everything’s different and trying not to freak out, looking for a way to comm Mom, when the Vulcan entered, asked me if I was well-rested, then firmly directed me here to the social hall for breakfast. He seems calm, a serenity about him that’s, I don’t know, nice, and his kid is cute, too, peeking out at me from behind a table then disappearing with a giggle as I pull a face at him.  
  
The older purple girl I noticed earlier stops at my table with a breakfast tray. She’s really pretty, short and slim with big green eyes, and dark blue hair tied in a braid over one shoulder. I’ve never heard of a species with her coloring before.  
  
“You mind if I sit with you?”  
  
“Sure.” I scoot my tray over to make room for hers as she slides into place opposite me.  
  
“Hi. I’m Lejiba.”  
  
“I’m Jimmy.”  
  
“I know.” She’s eating oatmeal. Gross. “I know everyone on board.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. So, if you have any questions about anyone or just need to talk, you come find me. Okay?”  
  
“That’d be great.” I eat some more of my eggs then chew on some toast, unsure of what to talk about. I’ve never really talked to girls much before outside of school, but I’ve got so many questions that I settle on one and take a breath before blurting it out. “Are those guys kidnappers or slavers or something?”  
  
It makes her laugh, looking over her shoulder at the Vulcan, the bearded one and the fat guy with the Scots accent.  
  
“Them? Oh, God, no. I know it’s all weird for you. You’re sick, and they’re taking you to find the cure. You’re not being kidnapped.”  
  
“Oh.” She sounds like she’s being honest. “Sick how? Is that why I’m so . . . I’m big. Like, my hands and everything. And my voice. Am I dying? Did my mom ask them to help?”  
  
“Yeah, you’re big. I don’t think you’re dying, exactly. Your family wanted to help you.” She reaches out to touch my arm, her thin fingers so purple against my sleeve. “They care about you and want you to get well. They miss you a lot.”  
  
“Really? Great.” That doesn’t sound like my family. The blond kid has moved to another table, sticking his head out and waiting for me to pull another face at him, which I do and he squeals with laughter and disappears again, making me smile. “Who’s that kid? He’s funny.”  
  
“That’s Gray. He’s my little brother.”  
  
“You? You’re his sister?” I try not to sound surprised, not wanting to sound prejudiced or like a total hick but she picks up on it and shrugs.  
  
“Don’t stress it. I’m adopted. Gray’s not.”  
  
“Are they here? Your parents? That Vulcan’s your brother’s dad, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Mine too. Our other dad’s -” She pauses, swirling her spoon on the surface of her oatmeal. “He’s not really here right now. We’re expecting him back soon.”  
  
“Must be nice, having two dads.”  
  
“I guess. My other dad’s a dork. He thinks he’s really cool and funny, and he’s totally famous but he and Uncle Bones,” she jerks a thumb at the guy with the beard, “have the worst sense of humor in the galaxy. I suppose he’s pretty amazing. In his own way. I miss him. He gives the greatest hugs.”  
  
“Famous? He’s famous?” That would be so awesome, having a dad famous for something other than getting killed. “Like how? Would I have heard of him?”  
  
She grins, taking a drink of her juice.  
  
“I can guarantee that you’ve heard of him. But I have to go. We’ll talk more later.”  
  
“That’d be cool. It was nice to meet you.”  
  
“You, too. You’re different than I thought you’d be. Later, okay?”  
  
Gray sidles around the seat she’s exited, slipping into it and gazing across the table at me while I munch on some more of my toast. “Hi. You’re Gray, right?”  
  
“Yes. You talked to Lejiba.”  
  
“I did. She seems pretty cool.”  
  
“Do you think I’m cool? You can’t lie to me because I’ll know if you’re lying.” He reaches across the table with one skinny arm and touches a finger to my wrist.  
  
“I told Lejiba I thought you were funny. So, yeah, I think you’re cool. Do you think I’m cool? Tell the truth or I’ll know you’re lying, too.” I touch his wrist in return and he pulls away, giggling.  
  
“No, you won’t! You won’t know that!”  
  
“Sure I will. I’m James T. Kirk, and I know everything.”  
  
“You don’t know me.” His face falls, solemn all of a sudden and I’m not sure why. I don’t usually hang out with little kids.  
  
“Not yet, but we’re stuck out here in stupid old Space together, right? Even if I’m sick, we can still make friends.”  
  
His eyebrow flicks upwards. Wow, wish I could do that.  
  
“You don’t like Space?”  
  
“Me?” I push my tray away and sit back in my chair. “No. Space is boring, and Starfleet is dumb. Everybody knows that.”  
  
“Don’t say that.”  
  
He sounds angry, his cheeks flushing red and his hands making fists on the table top. Whatever, it’s not like I’m scared of a five year old.  
  
“Listen, kid: Space is for losers, and anyone who says different is lying.” He jumps up, his whole body shaking.  
  
“You take that back.”  
  
“Jeez, take a hypo. I didn’t mean anything. I’m entitled to my opinion.”  
  
“You didn’t apologize. You’re ignoring the rules.” It looks like he’s going to have a total fit.  
  
“I guess I’m sorry. I am, I swear. Hey, calm down, I wasn’t trying to upset you. I’ve got reasons to think what I think.”  
  
“You said mean things. Like a jerk.” He says it through gritted teeth, his cheeks blotchy and red, those freaky eyebrows drawn together, his fingers flexing on the table. I start to look around us for help because I have no idea what to do with a kid going psycho, but the Vulcan’s already coming over to us. He reaches down to touch the back of the kid’s neck.  
  
“Control this. Find your center. Focus your mind.”  
  
“But he was saying—”  
  
“Explore my mind. Take my peace as your own.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Grayson Kirk: You will control this, it will not control you. Find your center. Focus your mind.”  
  
 _Kirk?_ I don’t get it. Is he something to do with my family? Everything’s getting weirder, my jaw wobbling and my eyes burning as I start getting upset and scared again, scared of being big and around all these people I don’t know, and it sucks that I’m sick and Mom didn’t even take the time to come with me. The Vulcan looks at me then this weird foggy feeling overtakes my head and the room spins, and I look into the kid’s eyes, which go wide as I catch my tray with my wrist, knocking everything to the floor as my body slides sideways and everything slips away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings as for previous chapter

I don’t know this place. It’s dark and it smells funny and the air feels wet. It feels like it does when I’m having a dream but Mom says dreams aren’t real.  
  
Someone’s hugging me, I think I know them but it’s not Mom or Sam. Sam doesn’t hug me these days.  
  
There’s a strange man, he doesn’t look like any man I’ve ever seen before. He has black hair cut funny and pointy ears like out of a fairytale book. He is holding a little man by the front of the little man’s jacket. Maybe the little man’s a magical dwarf and the strange man’s a goblin. He shakes the magical dwarf and says a bad word that would make Mom mad at him, and tells the dwarf that _‘you will try’_.  
  
There are more magical dwarfs now, and they sound mad but frightened as they crowd around the strange man. But more grown ups come, two other men and a lady. Then someone holds my hand and we go sit in a small boat, which is fun, and one of the little men pilots it up a river to a lake. It’s pretty, there’s lots of birds and trees.  
  
The strange man is putting a mask over his face and a small thing in his mouth. I’ve seen them on holovids and I want to tell someone that I know they’re for swimming under water as Mom says I should be proud that I know stuff, but I feel kind of shy so I don’t. The guy with the hairy face who is mad a lot is getting mad at the strange man, who is ignoring him and coming to sit by me in the boat.  
  
The strange man has nice eyes. It’s like he’s smiling with them at me even though his mouth isn’t. He helps me put the mask on and gives me the breathing thing and tells me that we are going for a swim. I don’t want to, the water looks cold and deep and I’m not great at swimming yet, but I like him and don’t want him to think I’m a wuss puss like Sam calls me sometimes.  
  
The little pilot dwarf is tipping something over the side of the boat into the water. It looks like a vase full of juice, a big one. It makes me feel thirsty and I ask if I may have something to drink, please, but the strange man shakes his head and says that we must swim first.  
  
I’m scared. He holds my hand and smiles with his eyes at me, and tells me that he will not leave my side and will make sure that I am safe. Mom says sometimes it’s okay to trust grown ups and sometimes it isn’t, and he seems like one of the ones Mom would think it was okay to trust so I nod at him and say _‘Okay’_ and he helps me jump into the water off the side of the boat.  
  
The water is cold and super dark but the mask means I can see the man clearly and the tube lets me breathe like I’m still in the air when I remember to try it. It’s kind of fun and I think the man thinks so too as he’s looking at me through his mask with his eyes smiling like he’s having fun too, his hair floating around his head. He keeps holding onto my hand. He looks at a box thing strapped across his chest and points downward, and starts swimming that way pulling me with him so I kick hard as I can and try to swim with one arm. It’s tough and I get tired real fast.  
  
He stops swimming. We’re deeper and the water is darker and colder here and I can’t see anything but him and some darker weeds or something behind him. We’re floating, kicking our legs a bit so we don’t sink deeper and he takes both my hands in his. His eyes aren’t smiling anymore and I get scared because I think he might be too. Then something touches my ankle, something that isn’t him, something that I can’t see and I open my mouth to scream, and my breathing tube falls out and starts to drop.  
  
He lets go of my hand and tries to grab it but I’m scared and trying to kick away the thing touching me and waving my arm around in the water, and he doesn’t catch my breathing tube in time before it sinks. The thing touching me is on both my feet now, something soft that’s wrapping around my ankles and legs, like a snake maybe. The man takes his breathing tube out of his mouth, pushing it into my mouth and holding my mouth closed over it with a hand so I can’t scream or lose it again. Then he spins me around in the water, his arm wrapping around me like a hug with his hand still over my mouth, and I stop trying to scream because I have to breathe.  
  
I can’t kick any more. The thing, the snake or whatever is holding me super tight and it hurts now and I start to cry. The man hugs me tighter, his hand moving from my mouth to fit over my face, his fingers opening up and pressing against my skin as he reaches with his other hand down between us, down along my back towards my legs, towards the thing. Then he pushes against my face harder and there’s light in my head and it’s silver like a flash of lightning . . .  
  
  
  
 _Home._ I know it the second I feel the sheet beneath my fingertips. Bones is sitting next to the bed with his eyes closed, which open as soon as I start to cough. He helps me sit up and hands me a cup of water.  
  
“Sip it. Don’t gulp.”  
  
“Remind me.” My voice is cracked and dry, like I haven’t spoken for awhile. “Didn’t we go through this scenario once already?”  
  
“Jim. You’re back?”  
  
“And how.” I reach up to squeeze his neck, pulling him down into one of those hugs where he pats my back awkwardly and allows me to hug him with one arm till I let him go. “Missed you, you old bastard. How long was I out?”  
  
“Eight days. Wasn't happy about you being unconscious that long, but your scans showed increased cortical activity throughout your limbic system and Spock was adamant you were in some kind of healing trance. Lord knows I don’t like to mess too much with anything involving telepathy.”  
  
I let him out of the hug, knowing he must be itching to scan something and, sure enough, Bones grabs his scanner and medical tricorder the second my arm’s dropped away, already frowning at the tricorder in anticipation.  
  
“Where are the kids? Where’s Spock? ” I can feel Spock, feel the echo of the jolt of awareness he experienced when I woke still reverberating along the length of our bond. I can sense he’s not too far from me and it makes me wonder why he’s not in here, on me, right now. He should be and my question’s almost petulant. The corner of Bones’ mouth quirks up but he doesn’t stop scanning.  
  
“Making his way back here at warp factor fifty, most likely. Pui-Shan browbeat them all into going for a nature walk, to get them out of the house for some air because your single-minded husband hadn’t spoken in three days and was beginning to scare the kids. She managed to guilt-trip a Vulcan, it was a sight to behold. She’s something, that girl. She’d make a better admiral than you.”  
  
“Bullshit. I got my memory back, and happen to know for a fact that I’m an awesome admiral. Just like I was the most awesome goddamn captain that ever lived.” He flips the scanner off and I recline back in bed, pulling the sheet up over my stomach. “I knew I had to be, but there’s something to be said about knowing for sure.”  
  
“You said you got it all back? You’re positive?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m positive. Know what? The only good thing about my childhood was that it was a long time ago and got more so every day. It wasn’t much fun living various parts of it back over again.” I stretch out my legs, wondering if my body’s all kinds of fucked up after a week in bed, because everything feels okay, if a little achy, my limbs somewhat weak and woolly. I wouldn’t want to try to walk right now. “Why? Does the scan look like I’m missing something?”  
  
“Impossible to tell. I can only compare your readings with those taken prior to the initial attack, but you’ve banked an additional four years’ worth of engrams since, so I’ve got nothing to make an exact comparison against. Not to mention that the vast majority of those memories were neuron soup ten days ago.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks, Bones.” He eyebrows at me like he doesn’t want to hear it but I sit up, not planning to give him an out. “I mean it. The journey to Ibahn’s a little fuzzy, but you brought me back. Thank you. I mean it, there’s no way I can’t thank you enough.”  
  
“Like you’ve not saved my ass a few times over. I didn’t do that much. Thank your husband.”  
  
“Trust me, I intend to. I’m planning to aardvark his aardvark over and over again in extremely heartfelt gratitude.”  
  
“Figures. At least let me exit the room first.”  
  
“Then start exiting. Soon as possible. Come on, Bones, scram.”  
  
I’ve got the language of our bond back, all the understanding of its nuance and subtlety that I’d learned and lost, and I can feel it heating gently now the same way supersonic shock announces the presence of something coming your way fast. I can sense gratitude, joy, worry, love, disbelief, caution, exhaustion, exhilaration, all topped off with a heap of good old fashioned Vulcan horniness. I start laughing to myself, giddy with it, with Spock’s nearness, with everything that I remember about him and about us now. Bones pauses on his way out the room to look at me and ask why I’m laughing, and is almost knocked flying by a Spock-shaped battering ram that powers through the bedroom door and lifts me up, out of bed and into his arms, my legs wrapping around his hips like they’ve done a million times before in this bed alone.  
  
 _“Spock. T’hy’la.”_  
  
His arms tighten around me further at my whisper and I’m cupping his jaw to press kisses all over his face, his closed eyelids, the tips of his ears, everywhere I can reach until he lays his head against my heart and holds me there as I stroke through his hair.  
  
“Jim.” It’s like my name’s a prayer, some kind of incantation, such is the weight his gruff voice lends it.  
  
“It’s me.”  
  
He lifts my hands, his fingers finding mine in a kiss, lifting his head as we nuzzle against each other. My beautiful Vulcan. My soul. There’s nothing more to say as I drink him in and feel him do the same, his nose seeking out the back of my ear to rub, the touch of his lips and chin there as he scents himself with me. But then a second battering ram, Gray-shaped this time, enters the room to hit me hard, skinny arms snaking around my waist just as Lejiba’s wavering, tearful voice reaches my ears.  
  
“You know, if you guys could not be all gross on each other for five minutes, it’d be really nice to say hi to Daddy.”  
  
She’s not called me that in ten years. I pull apart enough from Spock to lift his arms, meeting his eyes so dark and profound as tears overflow mine, the kids ducking under our joined arms to wrap around me. This is all that matters in the universe, right here, in this bed. I got it all back, every second. How Lejiba’s hand was cold and so delicate when she darted out of the crowd and first slipped it into mine on Ooniuua. How Gray’s hand had clung to my finger with surprising strength two minutes after his birth, his eyes squinting up into mine and giving me the most disappointed look I’ve ever seen on another being. Too many instances of being wanted, and needed, loved and adored, ignored, resented, and hated too, sometimes. All of it and more, it’s all back. I remember now that I am always terrified beyond measure, because I’ve somehow managed to tear out my heart, break it into three, and let those three pieces exist outside of me in a galaxy full of danger that I’m in a position to know more about than most people.  
  
I wipe my eyes with my shoulders, unable and unwilling to let go or untangle my arms. I hug Gray to my side harder and rest my chin on Lejiba’s head, smiling at Spock. “Hi.”  
  
“Hello.”  
  
“And you.” I kiss the top of Lejiba’s blue hair. “‘Worse sense of humor in the galaxy’, huh?” Lejiba pulls back to glare at me, the effect softened by her wet eyes and how beautiful she is in such a different way to how she was as a child.  
  
“ _That_ you remember? Typical.”  
  
“That, and also that you owe me Sonata Twenty-One, B flat major, because I won our bet. You thought you’d gotten away with that one. Blame Pops.”  
  
“You call this winning? Anyway, forget it. There’s no challenge in the Schubert for any artist of worth and he’s so disgustingly sentimental.”  
  
“Just like me. I’m calling it in, I want my Sonata.”  
  
“What was the bet?” I can barely make it out, Gray’s face pressed into my stomach, but then he rubs his nose on my tunic leaving a smear of something I don’t want to examine too closely, and repeats it. “You said you bet with Lejiba. That’s gambling.”  
  
“I was mad with Daddy before he went to Ibahn and was scared something would happen to him.” She tucks into me tighter still, her voice hiccuping with memory. “So he bet me a trip to Risa that he’d come back intact. I had to promise I’d perform this horrible piece for him if he returned from Ibahn okay.”  
  
“And there’s a lesson to be learned there, son.” I ruffle Gray’s hair, tucking my head into Spock’s neck because I can’t get close enough to him right now. “If you’re making a bet you don’t want to lose, make it time-bound or someone else’s second chance might come and bite you in the butt.”  
  


~*~

“Wow. That was . . .”

“Expeditious.”

I snort into his shoulder.

“That’s one word for it. Sorry. But you know damn well I’m only good for another five seconds once you get inside my head.” I push up into him further, feeling his asshole flexing around my dick, pushing me to the edge of oversensitivity before I pull out with a wince, rolling away and falling back to the bed beside him. “Whatever. It’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to apologize?”

“A little bit, yeah.” But I’m smiling against Spock’s lips as I say it, sighing with how good it feels with his tongue pushing against mine, aftershocks of a literally mind-blowing orgasm skittering around my nervous system as his leg wraps around mine, his dick hard and wet against my hip.

“I am sorry.”

“For what?” I tug him closer again to start kissing along his jaw, up over his chin to his mouth once more then along further to claim an earlobe with my teeth, my head every bit as turned on as ever by him even though my body is crying out for sleepy time.

“For being at fault. I apologize. I was in error.”

“How so?” I trace his ear with my tongue and he cranes his head towards me in a not-so-subtle hint until I suck gently at the pointed tip. It makes him groan, and his voice is a half-octave lower when he speaks again.

“I assumed your exclamation that you desired to, I quote, fill my man pussy with your hot cream, was a sincere one that you wished to have promptly fulfilled.”

“Fuck, Spock, don’t repeat it back to me. It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

His humor, a touch smug this time, fizzes into my brain as I start to kiss down his neck, loving the creamy texture of his skin, as fine as ground pearls.

“Then I must apologize once more.”

“No.” I prop my chin on his chest, raking my fingers up through his chest hair to smooth over his cheekbone with my thumb as he looks down at me, his liquid eyes so breathtaking that I reach up further to trace the tips of the thick fringe of eyelashes while he blinks at me, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “You never have to apologize for anything else, ever again. When it comes to husbandly duties, melding with a monster squid and fighting it for the contents of my mind pretty much gets you a lifetime pass out of the doghouse.”

“I fail to comprehend how canine habitation—”

“Except for that!” I flick his nipple and he hisses, narrowing his eyes at me, his dick twitching against my hip. “There is no way in hell you grew up with human relatives and don’t know every active idiom back and forth.”

“It seems that my lifetime pass is a conditional one.”

“It is. And here I was trying to say thank you.”

He curls against my body, reaching to pull at my hip so I roll to face him, his lips rubbing against my neck as his hand follows the contours of my back to cup my ass.

“I do not wish to claim it as an altruistic act on my part, which accepting your thanks without comment or correction would imply. I was reclaiming that which is mine.”

“And repaying a debt.”

“Which would be illogical, given that no individual invested in said-debt continues to exist within our reality, to my knowledge.”

I knew it. Ever since I’d gotten the whole story out of Spock’s counterpart, about everything they’d done for each other, about how the other Kirk once gave up everything, losing even his son in the process, to get his Spock back . . . ever since then, I knew it hung in the back of Spock’s mind. One small part of the weights and balances that seem to make up Spock’s moral universe, a box on a checklist left unmarked. They were about the age we are now, the other me’s son not that much older than Lejiba. I can’t allow myself to dwell on that thought so I tweak his earlobe instead.

“Silly, illogical Vulcan.”

“I would remind you that the cephalopod was many times my size and mass, and a powerful telepath.”

“My point stands.”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Conceded.”

But I’ve recovered a little energy now and his last word’s spoken up to me with another hint of a smile where I’m kneeling over his prone body, my toes brushing up his inner legs while I begin to kiss his shoulder, moving across his collarbones to the other, speaking between each kiss that I press against his perfect skin.

“You may legitimately lay claim to the credit for what I’m about to thank you for. While I was healing, I lived it all again, all my lost memories unrolling out in front of me. So I want to thank you for giving me back our first kiss.”

 

_It was after two non-dates. I thought they were dates, especially the botanical exhibition, so nervous I had to wipe my hands on my pants until I near wore a hole in them before I chimed at his door to ask him if he was ready to beam down with me. Then fucking Sulu got him all science-geeked-out about some cloning tech on show, and I didn’t see him again the rest of the night because Bones was on a downer and in a mood to bitch. Next time, I asked Spock to dinner because we were swinging by DS3. I picked the Kravag Norr place specifically because I knew there was no fucking way any of the other crew would go anywhere near it. Spock brought a stack of procedural reviews with him that had a deadline approaching. So, shitty, violent food, and we worked through it. I got to rub my knee against his under the table twice. That the knee-rubbing alone had made it all worthwhile demonstrates how long I’d been stuck in the Crush from Hell over my oblivious First._

_Our third non-date date. A courtesy visit to New Vulcan mainly to give Spock a little peace of mind. Not that he'd showed any sign he needed it. The colony invited the crew to participate in a small cultural arts festival that was taking place in order to formally recognize the colony’s efforts to revive Old World arts. Even though the opera lasted four hours and mostly sounded like elephant seals mating, it had an undeniable romance to it, an ancient tale about a Vulcan warrior’s search for ultimate truth. I invited Spock in for a friendly chat once we beamed back on-board, planning to ask him if he was okay or if visiting the colony and his father had unsettled him in any way. Instead, he beat me to the punch, the door closing behind him with a hiss as he raised an eyebrow, ‘Elephant seals, Captain?’ and made me realize that every Vulcan within a ten meter radius of me must’ve heard my whispered aside to Scotty. I’m just about to comm Sarek to officially apologize when Spock reaches out, taking my hand in his and sliding his fingers against my own in a friendly manner._

_“Your presence was enlightening, Jim. Thank you. Good night.”_

 

“I didn’t know then, that it was our first kiss.” I lift his hand with my own, lacing our fingers and pulling his to my mouth, kissing over each fingertip in turn as his eyes go heavy-lidded. “So I need to thank you for giving me back our second kiss, too.”

I lean into him, my thigh between his, his hands guiding my head as I press my lips against his and push into his mouth with my tongue.

 

_I get a bright idea: we’ve got shore leave coming up on a planet with a largely subtropical climate and large tracts of mountainous forests. I decide to take Spock camping so I can seduce him. Not even a Vulcan can resist the erotic draw of a night under canvas, right? I get it all figured out, comming ahead to make sure the Staztians have invented tents. They have, so I organize a cosy little domed number, a stove, sleeping bags but not cots because, in my head at least, we’ll be too busy rolling around naked to worry much about where we’re going to sleep._

_Bones is grouching as usual about shore leave and how I never take any decent personal time, so I tell him I’m planning a camping trip once we get to Stazt IV in order to shut him up. He thinks it’s a great idea and invites himself along, and I’ve got absolutely no legitimate reason to tell him he can’t come, considering I haven’t dared tell him I’m planning on making my move where Spock’s concerned. Bones made it clear months back when I drunkenly confessed my growing obsession with Spock that I’d probably get my dick nerve-pinched right off if I ever made a move in that direction. Then he laughed at me on and off for an hour, so I haven’t mentioned it since. He suggests I invite Spock, too, so we’ve got someone to poke fun at._

_I get Bones drunk as fast as I can. His tolerance is up after a year spent serving with Scotty, so it’s well on its way to dawn when he finally passes out face down in the middle of our single tent. I follow the path Spock excused himself down earlier, finding him meditating on a rocky ledge facing the coming dawn, the sky beginning to lighten at the far horizon. I sit next to him, a foot or so away, not wanting to disturb him, just wanting to look at him, so pale and perfect in the fading light of three moons._

_But he opens his eyes and looks at me, regarding me without expression or comment, and I’m still more than a little drunk so I whisper his name and lean towards him to clumsily press my mouth against his chin before figuring out where his mouth is and trying again. He doesn’t make a sound, his lips unmoving against mine before he opens them and begins to kiss me back, his tongue moving against mine. We turn towards each other and kiss, simply kiss, on and on, nothing else as the sun rises. It’s better than any sex I’ve ever had. Then he breaks the kiss, his fingers stroking mine, and gives me what is so very nearly a smile, his face unnaturally rosy in the light of the fuchsia dawn. The morning’s birds leave the branches all around us, carrying my heart up into the air on feathered wings._

 

I’m working my way down his body now, tonguing and nipping at each flat nipple, my fingers tugging at his chest fuzz then following the fine trail that leads to the dark bush that’s the same silken texture of the hair on his head, so soft and glossy, curling around my fingertips. I lick over his hipbones, tracing the very tip of my tongue down the length of his cock before rubbing my face into his crotch, loving the feel of all his fine fuzz against my skin. He moans, his legs stretching wider apart as his fingers slide into my hair to hold my head with no hint of direction or control. I pull his legs so his knees are tucked over my shoulders, settling onto my stomach as I lift his heavy erection to my mouth, kissing his dripping slit before licking his flavor off my lips.

“I want to thank you for the memory of the first time we fucked.”

I suck him down, deep into my throat as he gasps and arches off the bed into me, his fingers tight in my hair.

 

_I read it over ten times, my knuckles pressed to my mouth so I don’t do anything stupid in front of the bridge crew. Squealing like a lovesick captain who just got booty-commed by his very proper Vulcan officer over at Sciences springs to mind. Or jumping out of my chair and doing an impromptu dance on the viewscreen platform, although that’d make it tough to hide the boner I’m currently sporting, my legs crossed as I read Spock’s comm over one more time. He wants to meet in my quarters, at nine, to further discuss our camping trip. Unless he’s interested in knowing exactly where Bones forgot to apply insect repellent, after that kiss it can only mean one thing._

_I’ve showered. I’ve shaved, and trimmed other stuff. I’m in jeans and a blue button-down, because I know my strengths. Barefoot, because I know it’s sexy and a little vulnerable. No underwear, because I’m all about ease of access. Clean sheets. Unobtrusively-positioned lube. Low lights. A bottle of wine. Snacks, even, veggie ones. I’m so fucking smooth I can hardly believe it myself._

_Then the door chimes and I answer it in person because I’ve been hovering there for the last two minutes, aware he’d chime at twenty-one-hundred precisely. So the door slides back and Spock’s standing there dressed all in black, this nubbly, tactile-looking knit that clings to everything. My mouth drops open and I stand there and catch flies and look up and down him for a full sixty seconds while I fully admire just how thoroughly it clings. To_ everything. _By the time I’ve manage to close my mouth and stand aside enough to invite him in, I’m halfway to creaming my jeans and my asshole’s started doing an impromptu dance all of its own._

 _The door’s not completely closed behind him before he reaches out with a snarl and grabs me to him, and a passing and, I’m assuming, surprised ensign is treated to a brief glimpse of Spock shoving his tongue past my opening lips as I suck at his mouth and hold on to anything I can grab hold of. I’m naked before we even make it to bed, Spock disdaining my planned ease of access by simply ripping the shirt off me, buttons flying in every direction as he bites over my chest towards my nipple. I’m bent backwards looking at a button on the floor muttering ‘_ Wow, Rand’s going to get in a serious piss about all these buttons’ _when Spock shoves his hand into my jeans and I stop thinking for the next forty minutes._

_He’s fixated on my ass. I come the first time bent double on my knees on the bed, ass high, Spock’s fingers digging into my cheeks as he growls into my asshole and tongue-fucks me senseless. The second time I come is keening through gritted teeth as he bounces me back on him hard after his first orgasm has hit, his hand coaxing my dick to keep me coming until I have to pull myself off him and curl up on the bed whimpering as wave after wave of sensation passes through me. The third time I come, I’m not even entirely sure that’s what’s happened because he’s in my head and I’m riding through his with him as he fucks me deeper still, my feet hooked around his neck as ecstasy explodes through every atom of my body. Even if I hadn’t been head over heels with Spock before this, it’s safe to say the sex meld nails it. So to speak._

 

 

“And the first time we made love. You’ve given that back to me.” I nuzzle it into his inner thigh, biting there before working my way back to his cock. “You remember?”

“Of course.”

“You knew how I felt before I’d ever spoken it out loud. You knew it the minute you first touched me after Stazt.” I drop my head and suckle at his tip, unable to get enough of the honeyed musk that pours out of him when he’s this ready to come.

“Yes.” It’s terse, a definite hint of impatience that makes me smile against him, teasing him with my tongue.

“So why was it different when I said the words? You already knew I was in love with you.”

“I recalled the words of my mother.” Only Spock would be this comfortable discussing his mom while getting his dick sucked, his fingers threading through my hair while I close my eyes and deepthroat him again. “When I was a child, she once told me that the primary difference between Vulcans and Humans was that Vulcans are fully at ease with words but not with the sentiments behind them. She said that Humans are the opposite, that they revel in emotion but seldom have the ability or desire to state those emotions with complete honesty. She said that, as a child of the two worlds, I’d grow to recognize when the two states combined, rare occurrences that she said had worth beyond any measure of value.”

He cups my chin with his fingers, pulling me off him, smearing the spit and precum on my lips with the ball of his thumb. “When you told me that you loved me, it was the first time that I was truly able to understand her meaning.”

 

_His touch is hesitant with none of the intensity of how it’s been between us over the last month, uniforms shed hastily, boots kicked off, accidental scratches and hickies and a knot the size of a walnut on my head after he throws me onto the bed one night and I manage to headbutt the wall on my way down. But tonight, after I blurt it out after a kiss that makes me believe I’ll never want to kiss another person my whole life, it’s all gentleness, his hands slowly undress me with silent reverence while I try to figure out if he didn’t say it back because he’s Vulcan or because he isn’t in love with me._

_He senses my perplexity through his touch against my skin, his eyes glowing with emotion that I want to shake out of him. Is this what being in love with a Vulcan means? It’s the first time that I’m ready to do the whole emotional commitment thing, and I fall for someone who may be completely unable to reciprocate. Freud would’ve had a field day with the way my head works._

_Then he’s moving deep inside me, rocking his hips hypnotically rather than slamming against me hard, stoking a slow burn deep inside as I bite my lip and moan and feel like I’m ready to die. His hand reaches out for my face and I lick his palm before it settles there, waiting for this, wanting him in my head so I can access all that buried heat, the smoldering madness that is Spock’s need for me. It’s addictive, driving my own climax to headier heights each time we fuck as Spock’s building, raging libido sweeps through me like forest fire. But, this time, he spreads his fingers across my face and leans down to open my mouth with his as his mind penetrates mine._

_He’s taken me somewhere else. A place inside that was hidden from me before, somehow. I feel the simmering heat of his desire all around me, witnessing the flare of pleasure as I hike my hips and clench on him hard, but mostly it’s something else that lifts me up, that threads through every part of me that it feels like I’m held aloft by a shimmering, swirling entity made of silver light. I can feel that it’s him, and that it’s a mass of emotion that’s too big, too powerful and unguarded to put a name to. He adores me, every heartbeat, every molecule, every word I’ve ever said to him._

_He didn’t have to say it. He took me inside his heart and showed me instead._

 

There’s too much else to say right now, too much to thank him for. I’d thought it was enough when I’d returned to my family and to loving him, that I still had the life we’d built together if not the memories of us doing so. I didn’t realize how much I’d lost, I had no idea at all until he risked his life to force its return, and I don’t know if I’ve got enough years left in me to thank him for everything that he's given back to me. But I look up along his trembling body at his face now, which has lost all its poise, his guard down, and see this side of himself that I remember now he’s only ever shown me.

I don’t yet have the strength for this but I trust his hands to support me as I straddle his hips, pushing myself back down onto his soaking prick, impaling myself inch by inch as he leans his forehead against my chest and struggles to maintain a shred of control. Then his arms wrap around me tight, his hips surging up to lift my body onto the pyre of his own as he surrenders to a fire that’s been burning inside us both for twenty years.

~*~

“I can shoot him, right? I’m sure there are special laws for admirals.”

He’s got his hand on Lejiba’s ass. Not her hip, not her waist, her asscheek. He’s squeezing it and she giggles and play-slaps his shoulder. Spock tilts his head at them, lips pursed.

“Regrettably, there are no special laws for admirals in this instance.”

“Spock, he’s slime. He’s pus. For fuck’s sake, he has a self-inflicted parasitical infection.” A woeful trend, a living tattoo created by implanting light-emitting parasites subdermally in the idiotic subject’s chosen pattern. Lejiba’s new friend has a sparkling, color-changing chihuahua riverdancing across his forehead. He squeezes Lejiba’s ass again. “That’s it. She’s Jim Kirk’s daughter, goddammit! That little punk.”

“Patience, husband.”

“You’re no help. That’s your baby girl he’s manhandling. Now is not the time for Vulcan reticence!”

“I am attempting to formulate a scenario in which Mr. Sparxxx,” Spock carefully articulates the additional consonants, “Might somehow trip and fall onto my hand.”

“Your pinching hand?” He nods, still staring at the back of Douche Boy’s head with narrowed eyes, and my heart sings a little song. “There are so many reasons why I love you.”

“Indeed.”

We’re nearly all the way across the campus, Lejiba dragging Sparxxx up the steps in front of us. Okay, I hate him and want him to die slowly and in a lot of pain, but it’s wonderful having her home after her year’s transfer in Nova Mundus ended a month back. The trees are beginning to drop their leaves now, fall finally setting in and I turn my collar up against the breeze coming from off the bay, walking closer to Spock and wishing I’d had his forethought and worn a scarf. I feel his posture change beside me, a minute stiffening as his step pauses almost imperceptibly, and look up to see the cause of it marching across the campus towards us, trailed by two assistants.

“Father.”

“My son. Admiral Kirk.”

“It’s Jim, Sarek. No uniform. See? Jim. Go nuts, try it out.”

He looks down his nose at me for a beat, then turns his attention back to Spock.

“Your daughter has an unusual measure of social confidence for her years. May I ask if that young man is professionally trained or merely an enthusiastic amateur student of gynecological examination?”

They’re leaning against a column, and Sparxxx’s roving hand has slipped around Lejiba’s hip and is fondling . . . areas. A red mist descends.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to enjoy it, too. He’s dead meat. He’s lunch.”

“Jim . . .”

The gentle reproach in Spock’s voice reminds me why we’re all here. I guess it wouldn’t be very supportive to Gray if I slaughtered his sister’s boyfriend across the steps of his school auditorium. Spock’s fingers find mine for a brief touch before he takes control, leading his father up the steps to Lejiba, inviting her to introduce her companion to her grandfather. Sparxxx whips his hand away in the face of so much frosty Vulcan politeness, and his chihuahua lives to dance another day.

Gray’s so small up there on the platform. He’s already skipped ahead two grades and Pui-Shan’s discussing his advancing another in a few key subjects, but the classmates at his back look like a football team in comparison, burly eight year olds picking their noses to see how far they can flick the results and giving each other dead arms as he steps up to the podium and onto the crate it takes for him to be able to see over the top. Another year up and you might as well throw him to the wolves. But his fingers are steady as he keys up his prize-winning essay, his hands firm on the edge of the podium, his eyes regarding us, his audience, with total calm.

“My Two Dads: a paper on dual heritage parenting by Grayson Kirk.”

Five minutes later, I’m trying really hard not to look at Spock because I know that, if I do, I’ll lose it and start laughing in a way I won’t be able to stop. He’s six years old, where the hell is he even getting this stuff from? I’m so glad Bones is off-world again. Even Sarek’s ear tips have flushed a delicate sage, his eyebrows hitting high orbit every few minutes, especially when Gray treats the auditorium to a short but descriptive paragraph of the differences between the instances of Spock’s melds with Gray and those Spock has with myself. Gray’s solemn voice continues in its high pitched monotone and I stuff the knuckles of one hand into my mouth, turning away from Spock because just the sight of him out the corner of my eye is threatening to burst the dam. I’m proud and appalled and have no idea where we’re heading with this.

“Therefore the conclusion I am inclined to draw after recording quantitative observations over the past year is that, although my dad’s intuitive, affectionate and, some might argue, entirely improvisational parenting techniques have provided me with a key example of emotional intelligence as much as my Pops’ intellectual vigor, adherence to logic and the constant pursuit of scientific discovery have molded the growth of my rational being, there are also additional factors in my development that have inherent merit and cannot be disregarded.

“My parents are not a simple reflection of their individual cultural identities. My Human father’s staunch respect for cerebral occupation and for academic achievement has not only held sway over my own educational and recreational activities, but also played a key role in my very existence, for I do not believe that my Vulcan father would have initially acted on his sexual attraction to Dad, nor would he continue to focus on Dad to such an extraordinary degree, if he did not recognize Dad to be his intellectual equal.”

“You’re damn right.” It’s only a mutter but I’m something of an expert in the aural capabilities of Vulcans these days and I pitch it just so Sarek can’t miss it.

“In the same vein, Dad has recognized in Pops a person who, regardless to the social mores and cultural hegemony of his home world, has a depth of private emotionality that matches his own, enabling their partnership to thrive, becoming both famous and infamous, known throughout the galaxy and one that exists in two realities that we know of. I am a child of this union and am confident that it is both the binary nature of my fathers’ primary personalities in addition to the secondary traits that consolidate their similarities, that allow me to stand here before you today to state that we are all children of mixed heritage on a varying scale of diversity, and to encourage you to explore your own duality as an expression of self. I am not the sum of my fathers: I am a celebration of their differences, and a reflection of their harmony. I am two loves made one. Thank you very much.”

There’s a stunned silence for three seconds before Lejiba and I jump to our feet to start applauding and whooping, stamping our feet with approval while everyone else claps politely and look at each other as if more than a little shell-shocked. Lejiba leans backs over her seat towards me.

“I think we can safely say we know where he gets his ego from.”

“Ah, you obviously weren’t listening.” I wag my finger, taking my seat again now an older boy is preparing to read his essay on a subject that I doubt will be anything like as entertaining as Gray’s. “Pops’ and my similarities are consolidated. Nothing’s simply my fault any more.”

“Dad, he called himself ‘a celebration’.”

I look at Gray, up on the stage happily swinging his legs in his seat now his part’s done, oblivious to the expressions of suspicious awe on the older kids around him. I notice Lejiba snuggling against her dumb ass of a boyfriend who, wandering hands and parasitical infestations aside, was considerate enough to come with her family to listen to her kid brother give an inappropriately detailed lecture on the nature of birthright. Then my eyes are drawn as ever to Spock, his hair gleaming in its usual silken cap, the line of his nose leading to an eloquent eyebrow as he catches my eye over his father’s shoulder, the cast of his mouth which tells me that he’s every bit as proud and as horrified as I am. I look at him and know that twenty years is nothing, that we’ve barely on started our journey together. He’s a smart kid, Gray. A celebration? I couldn’t have put it better myself.


End file.
